#whatever actual emotion this idea was originally trying to draw from is long fucking gone buddy

[astranauticus]

ok one last post about the Project to truly exorcise it from my brain. just some process/design thoughts (also now that it's done if you want to read my liveblogged whinging for whatever reason here it is)

first off some stats because i kept stats like the nerd that i am:

time wise making this animatic took about 93.5 hours give or take (thanks procreate process replay) spread across exactly 2 months

anyway when i said i finished this project mostly through stubbornness and sunk cost fallacy this is what i meant lol like a lot of my thought process through this was just 'no way in hell am i letting some of these drawings disappear into my drafts forever'

on average each frame took about 2 hours 45 minutes but thats a bit of an overestimate since i forgot to count some of the animated bits from the first two lines (so id guess the actual number is more like.. 2 hours 20 minutes?)

btw that line with the starry apparition fading away? 12 hours total

the single longest and most painful frame to draw was the one of the crew walking through tu'narath (5 hours 30 minutes) because a. perspective b. architecture design c. for some reason i put a lot of detail into rendering the armour on all the githyanki i drew why on earth did i do that

(its especially painful bc that frame was one of the ones that didnt... feel like an important enough moment in the actual story of the show to be worth capturing the way the wish or even like, endellion is, i just needed to put that there for the storytelling flow or whatever of the animatic itself and it bothered me so much)

one other interesting little mishap was that i did all of these on canvas size 1080x720px (so that's why the youtube resolution isnt particularly high lmao) which is why procreate let me put an absolutely absurd amount of layers in one canvas (all 8 frames of with memories projected on the astral sea were done on one canvas. 159 layers) because the layer limit for that canvas size is 400 BUT. i accidentally started the starry apparition fade on an A4 canvas (my default canvas size for like all my normal fanart) and i only realised after finishing all the lineart and starting on colouring because i hit layer limit so i had to resize the canvas which did... interesting?? things to the lineart resolution

also if youre wondering how i drew K-LB that many times in something resembling timely fashion the answer is i sacrificed some... amount of sleep to 3d model and rig him in blender which. honestly? i consider it a roaring success

splitting the frames by bar was a Choice and certainly a choice ive.. had doubtsTM about but thats the kind of thing you cant really change without bringing the whole project crashing down so if the frames seem to move a bit too fast im so sorry there was really not much i could do there

idk if people actually noticed the very very tiny drawings of the crew moving around on the ship in the 4th line especially since they sometimes get obscured by the subtitles but the REASON for that is in my original drawings the subtitles went in the top left corner but they kept conflicting with other stuff so i just gave up and threw them to the bottom (also i originally included the chinese lyrics but then i got lazy lmao)

anyway that little detail like VR-LA angstily looking at the sea reminiscing about the JourneyTM and the crew sort of appearing along with the memories of their adventures together was one of those things that seemed SO COOL in my head but once i actually execute it its like. hmmmm not sure if that worked out the way you thought it would buddy. also the tiny crew was EXTREMELY hard to draw so put that down as another point in 'me subjecting myself to deeply painful and out there compositions for no good reason'

anyway i called this my magnum opus but i do actually have some thoughts about another one (a companion piece, if you will) for another song by the same band because now that i know what capcut can do im.. really itching to try something a little different because this like powerpoint presentation style? fully a product of me using iMovie as my only available video editing software for the past like 7 years of my life

#rwd #asto speaks #re: the projectTM #one last time using this dumbass tag lmao #honestly? also put another point in 'i worked on a project for so long it became just a Project to me and proceeded to get #absolutely blindsided by the emotional affect it has on people' #2 months. 2. months. #whatever actual emotion this idea was originally trying to draw from is long fucking gone buddy #like i did manage to re-experience some of it looking at the finished product but #i appreciate yalls screaming a lot i just truly did not anticipate it LMAO

[cinnamonest]

Kaeya Alberich - Yandere Profile

YES I love my eyepatch boy!! I really like him as a yandere, because he's definitely got several traits and behaviors that would make him a very unconventional/different yet absolutely terrifying one to have. Him or Diluc as your yandere is basically like playing a game on maximum difficulty. He's so arrogant dammit why does he have to make it hot

More importantly, someone take the ability to write n/sfw away from me I s2g... I go from trying to make serious content to nasty weird kinks and completely feral in .002 seconds the moment I add that readmore

tws: gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, mentions of mutilation

tws (below cut): noncon, a good deal of sadism, mentions of an*l

-----------------

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's actually one of the worst yanderes you could have in almost every regard, for two very simple reasons: his crippling psychological issues, and his intense selfishness. The first manifests as severe abandonment issues. It's the origin of his unhealthy feelings, most likely. Kaeya doesn't like the instability of people - based on his backstory, people always leave, or die, and even if they don't intend to, somehow it feels like abandonment, and he resents it. People leave him all alone and afraid and uncertain. That's generally all he knows, and despite the smug exterior, he's actually pushed people away quite a bit, keeps everyone at arm's length to ensure they can't become someone too important for him to accept their sudden absence. He can't care about someone, because that someone is fated to inevitably leave him, no matter who it may be.

That's why, once you manage to worm your way into his feelings and heart despite his best efforts, once he finally caves to acknowledging the feeling, he's aware. Painfully aware, because be can't stop worrying every waking moment about you, your well-being, your location. It reaches a point where he can't go about his job because he's simply too consumed with his worry.

The solution that kept him safest in the past was to avoid developing emotional attachments, but when he does, he's terrified of both your safety AND you intentionally abandoning him. Really, the latter would hurt worse, since he can't fault you for dying, but to abandon him? It would break him.

And, to some extent, he's developed a lot of  prideful anger about it, deep, deep down. He feels that he doesn't deserve to be abandoned, doesn't deserve to just be left behind under the guise of some greater purpose, and he'll be damned if he just lets you toss him aside like he feels others did. Even if you reject him, he won't accept it. You don't get to reject him. He won't allow that. What has he ever done to deserve everything that's happened to him? Nothing. You're the one person who has stayed with him, and you're going to continue to be with him. Forever.

That being said, he's still somewhat confident because he's got that arrogance about him. He doesn't perceive rejection, because he's always gotten a lot of attention for his looks, even if he's never actually followed through on anyone else's attention out of those same fears. He'll write off any perceived rejection as being for some other reason, something besides an actual rejection, and he'll seek to eliminate whatever he feels is keeping you from just accepting him.

Honestly, one of the most likely to have a full blown, classic-yandere-style psychotic breakdown. He can be driven to a snapping point, if there's enough stress or obstacles, and in case of that, he'll be a lot more willing to kill, and a lot more willing to hurt you, but it's a point that would still take a lot to reach.

But what's really terrifying about Kaeya is his delusions, primarily his ability to mentally justify everything he does without hesitation. Even most delusional yanderes struggle - they feel like it's wrong, they know it is deep down, and they take time to convince themselves of their delusions, tell themselves it's ok over and over, beg for reassurance, and get defensive when called out because they know they're in the wrong. The same isn't true for Kaeya. He automatically justifies his actions by default, and has absolutely zero doubt or hesitation to do so. He doesn't even need a complex reason for justification - it's a simple one. He deserves what he wants. Anything necessary to achieve that is fair.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Highly likely and very quickly, right up there with Diluc and Razor. And he's absolutely remorseless about it. It ties back into his delusional state and ability to justify anything he does - this is what's best for you. If you don't get that, that's your problem, not his.

He's another one to not want to pull some barbaric move like knocking you out, rather, he'd rather just trick you into walking right into your new home. He gets that you'll be upset about it, but to him, that's just part of the process. Not that he'll tolerate it for too long. 12, maybe 24 hours is enough time for you to reasonably be upset, but if you're still trying to fight him on this after that, he's going to get snappy about it, thinking you should already be over that by now.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

You're not leaving.

It's not worth trying, really. How he manages to do it is a mystery to you, but he'll manage to keep you locked in right there at the headquarters with him. How Jean and Lisa haven't found out about you being there, how he convinced all of his guards to be on his side of things, you have no idea. Realistically, if you get out, he's likely to make you out to be some kind of criminal that needs to be found -- just not to hurt you in any way, so goes the order, and the knights know better than to question why.

He has eyes and ears everywhere, it won't take them anytime at all to find you. He's so confident in that, and combined with his pride, he doesn't feel the need to go get you himself. No, it's a lot more satisfying to sit back and watch as they drag you through the doors of the headquarters, slowly pull you to the end of the room and drop you down at his feet, where he can look down on you with that closed-eyed, artificially wide smile that tells you that you have seriously fucked up.

Escape attempts aren't going to be met with a single shred of mercy, really. The thing about Kaeya is he's ultimately a selfish, selfish bastard with a lot of deep-seeded, highly repressed emotional issues, and he has absolutely no problem with keeping you bound hand and foot, or maybe even make some permanent modifications to your body if that's what it takes to keep you. It's not a wise idea to even try unless you're absolutely certain to succeed, otherwise you may find yourself never getting the opportunity again. You don't really need those Achilles tendons intact, you know. And your ankle bones are just so fragile, they'll snap with just a little twist. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad, giving you more reasons to be grateful when he's doing everything for you.

He's not one to just let it go, either. No, escape attempts are the one unforgivable thing for him, the one thing that will make him totally and completely snap. You don't get to do that. You're the one thing that doesn't get to just disappear out of his life in a flash. Half the reason he sends the knights to get you rather than going himself is to give him some time to let the rage settle down, otherwise he knows he might not be able to control himself and might end up hurting you even worse than he intends to. He's not going to buy any excuses and won't go any lighter on you if you beg and grovel or anything. But you will apologize -- you get to choose how hard it is. You can apologize the easy way, or, if you don't want to, there are many ways to force it out. But by the end, he'll get an apology, and a promise to never try again, out of you, no matter what that takes. It's by far the worst state you'll ever see him in, and really, once is enough to dissuade you from trying again.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

You'd have to try pretty hard. He doesn't have the sheer amount of years of life experience like Venti or Zhongli, but he's not the captain for no reason - he's perceptive, and highly intelligent.

Rather than simply mastering reading human voice and facial expressions for telltale signs of deceit, he's good at learning individuals in particular - memorizing the patterns of thought and action of a particular individual, and predicting how they will act. He can do it with everyone else with ease, how much more, then, with the object of an obsession? If you're trying to formulate some plan to trick him, he'll already predict what you'll do, if you lie, he already knows. It's creepier than the others, really, because it's not just that he can tell when you're lying, but rather he already knows you're going to lie or try some scheme before you do it. It feels so tailored and personalized to your thought patterns, it almost feels like an invasion of the privacy of your mind, which, really, is the one privacy you thought you had left.

He's great at gaslighting himself, too. He's a very good liar, and can make you believe anything he wants. He'll target your fears and paranoias, make you believe you're going crazy, and he'll do it all so perfectly you'll never suspect a thing. You'll end up coming to him for protection and guidance, exactly as planned.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Pretty strict. He doesn't let you have any outside contact, and you're limited on what you can do when he's gone. He'll bring you some books, maybe something to draw on -- no sharp writing utensils, though. In his mind, that should be enough to occupy you.

You won't get outside walks or visits. It's just too risky for him, and he really doesn't like seeing other people look at you. If you really, really beg, and you've been on amazing behavior, and you're well into your relationship, maybe a few months or so, there's a chance he'll take you out at nighttime, or sunrise, but at the slightest sign of intentions he doesn't like, you'll be dragged back, and you won't see the sun for a long time.

You'll have a very limited wardrobe, he doesn't see why you even need to wear anything, but if you're going to be stubborn, he can get you something simple, like an old shirt and some underwear, but that's about all you can have. Any requests for actual clothing are going to be denied. It's ridiculous for him to spend money on something you don't need, and besides, he prefers it this way, y'know?

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Generally, it's a simple one: obey. You do what he tells you to do, and you don't do something if he tells you not to. This stems to similar rules that develop: be submissive, don't be argumentative, don't be defiant. Follow those, and you can both be happy, and that's what you want, isn't it? It had better be - he's not very lenient, and will harshly punish even small offenses. As for that punishment... most of it isn't going to be sfw. That's just how he is.

What he will do is emotionally manipulate you, and he's rather good at it. You wanted to escape? Ok. He'll let you have your way, let you be alone. All alone. All by yourself, in a little room, with no one at all, which is exactly how you would have left him, had you succeeded. He knows very well how that kind of loneliness bites. He's not totally cruel, though, and he won't withhold affection from you by the time he returns -- he doesn't need to, you'll already be crying and apologizing, which is exactly what he hoped for. Not that he won't briefly mock you for it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're crying like that because you actually missed me. Oh, you did? Being all alone isn't particularly fun, now is it? I'm sure you understand that now."

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Kaeya's an insanely jealous person. It doesn't show on his face, but it eats at him internally. It doesn't matter if it's a love interest, a platonic friend, even a family member. It's all the same -- people who want to take your attention away from him, people who you smile at that aren't him, people you love that aren't him. He's not one to delude himself into thinking everyone secretly loves you romantically, rather, it doesn't matter. Romantic interests are the worst threat, sure, but friends and family aren't much better.

He sees himself as above killing, though. He has people to do that for him, and he likes knowing that he has that much power. He's not going to dirty his hands with it, and frankly, they're not even worthy of his time and effort to kill them. Knights and other connections can take care of it just as well.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

As somewhat previously discussed, the primary form of making him mad is attempting an escape. That's on a whole new level of anger because it strikes at a very deep, wounding insecurity. On a normal day, though, he's more easily exasperated than angry. He gets frustrated somewhat easily, especially if you're trying exceptionally hard to be a brat. He has very clear warning signs. His signature little smirk drops, he gets quiet, he balls his hands into fists and digs his fingernails into his palms. At that stage, he's irritable and might snap at you, but won't get too angry until you ignore those signs and push it.

If you do push him, though, he gets genuinely mad, which is a very quiet anger at first -- he doesn't talk much when he's mad. He acts. You'll know he's snapped when he puts down whatever he's doing, and just silently stomps over to you, face completely empty and flat, looking down at you with a cold expression. It's enough to put fear in you, but at that point, even if you apologize, you're not getting out of whatever he's planned.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Strongly in the "below" camp, a rather unusual stance for a yandere. Like many things with him, there's an inexplicable duality going on there.  You would think that if you loved someone so strongly you'd kidnap them, kill for them, and potentially suffer consequences just to have them, that you would really think highly of them. On the flip side, you would think that if you really saw someone as lowly, you wouldn't care for them, you'd see them as disposable.

But neither is true for Kaeya, no, he balances both obsessive love and complete narcissism regarding you. You're not disposable, no, he can't live without you, he needs you. But at the same time, you're not gonna be on any kind of pedestal. No, if anything, he sees himself on one, more like a throne, and you on the floor before him, how things should be.

He has a similar mindset to Zhongli or Albedo - you're fragile, you're dumb, you're incapable, and you need someone to care for you, protect you, guide you, someone who knows what's best for you, since you clearly don't. However, he's lacking in the attitude those other two have -- there's no seeing you as an angel here. There's no viewing himself as being absolutely honored to take care of you, or viewing protecting and caring for you as some kind of privilege that they're blessed to do, the way those two do.

No, as much as he loves those things, he'll never admit it, not even to himself really. Rather, his mentality is that you should be grateful. Here he is, a very highly respected, accomplished, capable person, and you...? You have what to offer, exactly? That's right, nothing, really, only cuteness and obedience, the latter of which you refuse to give him even though you really ought to. He's taking on the burden of making sure you don't get yourself killed, and how do you repay him? By getting mad about it, throwing a fit like some little kid? He puts up with your tantrums, which are really undeserved, by the way. He puts up with your disobedience and repeated rule violations, your sheer determination to defy him when he's going out of his way to do what's best for you.

One day, he thinks, you'll mature a little bit and understand why he does what he does, and when you do, you'll come groveling and sniffling about how sorry you are, how you'll never defy him again, how you'll be good and obedient from now on, and he'll love every second of it. He looks forward to that day quite a bit.

"Sigh... you know, you're pretty lucky I love you so much. You could stand to show me a little thanks, don't you think?"

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's strongly determined, and yet... doesn't do much to try. It goes back to his mindset that really, you're the one who should be grateful for him, and eventually, you will love him. He's not gonna grovel to you or try different ways of making you love him, no, he's far too proud for that. But he's a smart man. He knows the effects that complete and total isolation other than one other person can have on someone. He's just going to sit back and wait for that effect to kick in, and slowly watch your fragile little mind deteriorate until you're desperate for affection. At which point, well, he can use it against you.

"You were so mean to me before, weren't you? You fought me every step of the way, and now you're just going to turn around and act like that didn't happen...? Well, if you're really sorry, I'll forgive you. But how am I supposed to believe you really are...? Maybe you can think of a way to prove it, hm?"

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Probably the severity of his degradation. As aforementioned, most yanderes, even the more confident or cocky individuals, either worship the ground their beloved walks on and sees themselves as beneath them, OR sees their darling as some sort of fragile, angelic being, and they are simply a protector or caretaker to that being.

It's a bit different with him, ever the narcissist. It's a strange duality born out of a rare mix of neediness, obsession, and pride. You're more like a toy, or a pet - an invaluable pet that he could never part with, but a pet nonetheless. He certainly looks down on you more than the average yandere - he mentally associates you as naive, fragile, even dumb like a lot of the aforementioned protector/caretaker types, but without the reverence to make up for it.

It's a bizarre duality that not even he fully understands - don't think for a moment that that means he'll ever tire of you, or view you as disposable. No, he's actually one of the most obsessive ones, yet very demanding of attention and praise, rather than giving it.

He frequently tests you - things like leaving the door unlocked, waiting outside just to see if you'll try it. Seeing you open that door, watching your face go from ecstatic excitement and drop to wide-eyed terror, it's priceless.

"My, my, you didn't waste any time at all, did you? Why do you look so surprised...? You should know I wouldn't slip up that badly."

Pet names, but in the most infuriatingly condescending way, and uses them more often when he's mad and trying to warn you that you're pushing his limits. Particularly fond of "sweetheart," especially with a low warning tone and clenched teeth.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny fucker, all the way. The man has a lot of stress and frustration in his life already, that much more if you're... less than compliant with your new lifestyle. Sex, especially rough and hard, is a fantastic stress reliever.

Very little reservation. He's not crude about it, but he tends to make subtle innuendos very frequently, and laughs at your embarrassed reactions. Definitely the type to pull the whole shtick in which he says something with a blatant sexual undertone, then elaborates in a way to make it sound like having meant something else, follows with that smirk and says, "Why? What did you think I meant?" It's something he really enjoys doing, and loves to get embarrassed reactions out of people, particularly yourself.

"Touchy" doesn't begin to describe it. Pretty much from the moment you meet him, he's got his hands somewhere on your person. He grabs your shoulders when he stands behind you, he wraps an arm around you from the side when he walks up to you, he's always pressing his hands on your back and sides whenever you're navigating the streets, walking through doorways, wraps an arm around your waist when sitting next to you. It's highly uncomfortable, but really, he's just got something very subtly, but very strongly intimidating about him. You almost don't want to confront him on it. If you do, he'll laugh it off, and stop -- for maybe 48 hours or so, and then he'll be right back at it.

To the surprise of, well, everyone who's ever met him, he doesn't actually live up to the rumors of having been around the block, so to speak. His experience is actually little to none - that kinda happens when you push everyone around you away. Not that he'd ever let you know that, of course, and will probably lie if asked, but you can gleam a little bit of truth from slightly awkward movements and a bit of noticeable shakiness.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Kind of like Razor, the issue is that he loves you, and what better way is there of expressing love? He's not much for gift-giving or words of affirmation - no, he's a lot better with words of degradation, it comes more naturally to him. And he's certainly not one to enjoy acts of service -- well, not doing them, he'll gladly take them as a sign of your love, though. No, he expresses love through touch. It's like how, when you hug someone you really love, someone you missed, you squeeze them extra tight - the love manifests as a physical urge for some strong expression. Humans are physical about their emotions -- we punch walls when we're mad, we jump up and down when we're happy, and when you love someone, sometimes you just really, really want to pound them into a mattress as hard as physically possible. That's normal. That, and really, he's got his vices. He's actually fairly weak when it comes to resisting temptations, and prone to give in to urges for physical sensations like drunkenness and sex.

Is another one to be convinced that, with time, you'll come around. And is absolutely the top candidate to be one for using your own body against you - if you get wet, if you whimper, if you cum, that's just proof that you really do want this, that you're just being difficult because you enjoy being a brat, and he'll be sure to tell you that.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

This is nearly indistinguishable from punishment, sadistic bastard

D/S dynamics

Arrogant fucker wants to be served and worshipped, you could see it coming from a mile away. Anything that puts you beneath him is going to make him happy - anything where you're where you're supposed to be. There's a lot of options, but it doesn't really matter, as long as he feels like he's in control and ownership of you in some way, and as long as you act accordingly.

He wants it to be something that’s not just for sex, but rather, he’ll end up carrying it over into normal life, whether you like it or not. If you just went along with it in hopes of getting it over with once he cums, you’re going to be in for a treat when it starts to carry over. He gets a little too used to being worshipped, and decides he likes that submissive attitude on you enough to want to see it all the time.

Petplay/Collaring

It really helps that he sees you as something of a pet already, but really, the collar is the selling point. Even if you never go outside, there's something unbearably hot about the possessiveness of it all - really, it's there to remind you of your status as property. He wants to own you, and for you to be forced to acknowledge that he owns you, and there's really no better way to do that than something with his name on it. It's even better with a leash, one he can pull on when he's fucking you to pull you back onto him over, and over, and over, hearing it choke you the more he shortens it.

But really, having you crawl towards him on all fours and obey little commands so simple they're humiliating is pretty nice, too.

Impact pain/painplay

There's really nothing quite so powerful feeling as watching you cry and squirm from it, y'know? He's another one that just likes the marks his hands, belts, or anything else can leave all over the skin of your ass and the back of your legs. The thing with him, though, is it's not even always a punishment, he just does it for fun, and that makes it unpredictable. Will definitely make you count, it's a sadistic torture for your mind and body.

Throatfucking

May be used as a punishment measure, may just be because he's craving it, either way, even if you have a gag reflex, you won't for very long. He'll train it out of you gradually, grabbing the back of your head and just slamming all the way down into your throat, holding you there, making you choke - it's a beautiful sound, really, listening to you gag, all while your throat spasms around him, it's the best feeling, really, and will definitely be used as a threat if you need incentives to behave.

Choking

Ties into the dynamics, but really, there’s not much to say on this one. He likes the power trip from having his hands wrapped around your throat, seeing you struggle, watching your face go red, hearing those little choking noises. It puts power over you into his hands, and if you get pleasure from it against your own will, that’s even better.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Absolutely one of the ones to use it as a tool. If you have a baby, you'll be so much more bound to him. You'll need him more, you'll want him around more, you'll be much less likely to leave, and in a way it feels a little bit like a sign of ownership over you.

That being said, he's also acutely aware of his jealous tendencies, and realizes he would also be very likely to become jealous if he felt like you loved a baby more than him, or gave it more attention and affection than you do him. He doesn't like the thought.

So ultimately, the latter side prevents him from willingly trying, but if you really, really have defiance issues even after he's tried everything he can to break you help you adjust, he might consider it.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

If it's mild enough, he can just take the route of extremely rough fucking - it gets rid of the frustration, he likes hearing you whimper and squeal, and he can leave lots of little bruises as reminders of what not to do in the future.

But, again, he already gets off to putting you in pain - it'll be that much worse when you've done something to deserve it. Harder hits, no mercy whatsoever, and he just loves all your little cries, wiping away your tears and smiling at you, right before bringing down whatever instrument of pain he's chosen again. If you really, really make him mad, and he really wants to make you cry, he's not above fucking your ass, either, watching you cry and beg, but you'll learn with time that begging doesn't ever get you out of anything.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Definitely an ass man. Likes fucking you in doggy, seeing the ripple every time you bounce back off of him, pulling your hair or arms to add some force. He likes seeing all the little red marks that his hands and belts and anything else will leave on the skin, views it like marks of possession. Grabbing, beating, fucking, it's all good.

#Jesus take the wheel im too nasty for this #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere kaeya #tw: dark content #tw: noncon #tw: non/con

[witchy-jadda]

rott spoilers ahead

so i’ve given myself some time to think about everything and try to process it all and here are some of my thoughts on trollhunters: rise of the titans...

- straight off the bat, i loved the intro. opening with blinky telling the story of what happened up until this point was incredible. i would have loved if they had circled back to this though (i saw someone else say it should have been him telling the story to jim and claire’s kids and i loved that idea!)

- i also liked that they didn’t waste time at the start, instead they just jumped right into the action which was fun.

- honestly, i thought jim’s plotline throughout the movie where he basically thought he was useless without the amulet was just really not fun to watch. i understand why it was there and it played into the climax but i really did not find it one bit necessary seeing as i felt that we have grown beyond that. i felt it was overused. we’ve been there before and jim is aware that he’s the trollhunter, amulet or not.

- douxie being so soft with nari was genuinely one of the most heartwarming parts of the movie. i feel that we were really robbed of so much potential with douxie in this movie though. we didn’t see nearly enough of him. it seemed that the writers were picking and choosing when to remember how powerful he is. switching with nari and connecting to her are two examples of when they actually used his power, but aside from that they just disregarded it a lot.

- and speaking of forgetting how powerful people are... i’m genuinely so hurt and let down over what they did to claire. do they not realise how powerful she is? did they just forget about her character arc? it sure felt like it. she got to use her powers a few times (connecting to nari, portalling the titan, etc) but mostly it felt like she was saying she was spent and therefore unable to do anything. she is so strong and so powerful, and that’s just so empowering - especially for young girls. and then it kinda felt to me that rott was reducing her to basically nothing more than jim’s love interest.

- okay another quick note, it kinda felt to me that krel’s potential was also pretty wasted? he barely did anything and i just think he deserved more too.

- ew okay i don’t even want to think about it but i know i can’t discuss rott without talking about the mpreg thing. seriously, what the fuck was that? at first, i thought it was going to be a joke. i thought aja and krel were gonna wind steve up and see how far they could go with making him think he was pregnant just for a little bit of comic relief. but then he was actually pregnant. and so i laughed, because even though it was dumb it was kind of funny. weird and unexpected, but kind of funny. but by the time the movie was over it just didn’t sit right with me. looking past the fact that it was just more of them making steve’s character into a joke, i couldn’t see the logic in giving so much time to that subplot when other characters (claire, douxie) and other relationships (claire and douxie’s friendship) were sidelined. maybe if he had gotten a whole season the mpreg thing could have been included as comic relief or whatever, but with such limited time i really don’t see the point of wasting so much time on something so pointless. 

- speaking of steve, i need to talk about creepslayerz... they really deserved more :( like i get that eli literally helped steve through child birth and then named one after him which was lowkey adorable but i loved their friendship so much and i was really hoping to see more of them. i was kind of hoping they’d get to do more as well. look i gave up on hopes of a romance long ago (even though i still really wished it would happen) but i hoped that at least we’d see some more of their friendship.

* by this point my brain has decided to forget absolutely every point i wanted to make... cue the brain fog (we don’t like her) and allow me to take a moment to read back and try to find my point again *

- i don’t think i can stress enough how much i loved the visuals in this movie. holy fucking shit it was just phenomenal. like wow. the art was absolutely fantastic and i’m really hoping for another the art of... book because i love the art of trollhunters and i feel that they could do with updating it to include the newer stuff. but yep, the animation quality was incredible and i don’t have a bad thing to say about it because just wow.

- speaking of art... a moment of appreciation for character designs. just wow wow wow. we love to see such intricately designed villains. we love to see growth in our other much loved characters. and the locations too? fantastic. beautiful. amazing. loved it.

- another moment of appreciation for jim. the hair. the scars. the injuries. the winter jacket. the fact that he looked a little older.... loved it. loved it, loved it, loved it. i cannot wait to spend hours pouring over reference pictures to draw them all.

- and claire... her armor being weathered and worn. her eyes!! her hair looked great as always. i just love her...

- nari nari nari... my goodness, her magic is so beautiful. i wish we got to see more.

- also, the jlaire moments were very cute. their kisses? so soft. they literally love each other so much. i adore them.

- what happened to the babies from the darklands btw? is not enrique just chilling in the lake’s house with a ton of babies? 

- barbara deserved better. i would have liked to see her and strickler happy.

- on that note, why the actual fuck did they think a few explosives would win against magic?? literal ancient magic and these dumbasses were like huh i guess we should blow it up. i’m sorry, what?? y’all are stupid.

* currently trying to think of every possible point that isn’t to do with the ending because i really don’t want to think about that yet *

- the whole thing with archie and charlemagne felt super unnecessary. like usually characters sacrifice themselves and it’s like sad and you can see the reasoning and stuff. but they literally could have gotten out. i really did not vibe with that. it felt like they just did that to leave douxie with no one.

- that trollmarket was beautiful though.

- speaking of trollmarket... they really restored the heartstone just like that? are you joking? i was not impressed at all. the heartstone was dead and gone, could not be destroyed. did they just forget that? half the shit in wizards wouldn’t have happened if the heartstone could have been restored. very pissed off by that. it was dead, that was it.

- okay back to jim... love that he pulled the sword from the stone. it was cute that it was a group effort, kinda would have preferred if it was just him but that’s just a me thing. and maybe me and my daylight tattoo are biased here, but excalibur is not half as pretty as daylight.

- not gonna lie, jim yelling come on trollhunters! kinda got me. i was very emotional watching this.

- i think the most in character jim moment of the whole movie was when he dropped excalibur, he didn’t have his armor, he was all alone and he decided to make a fist and fight the wizard/god with literally no weapon or means of defence. i don’t think y’all understand how much i love this dumb self sacrificing selfless boy. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, he is literally one of my most favourite characters of all time. i love him with all my heart.

- the armor!! wow wow wow. that was a fucking cool scene. beautiful.

- jim getting stabbed or whatever with that fucking spear thing nearly killed me.

- okay here goes... toby. my sweet toby. jim and toby’s friendship is one of my absolute favourites ever. my goodness. and toby getting in the van and going to save jim was incredible and such a toby thing to do. of course he would think of doing that.

- but like seriously... claire and douxie are so fucking powerful and they were both just like lol i guess we can’t do anything to help jim? i’m sorry what?? don’t tell me that claire wouldn’t go full on black and purple eyes and get herself up their to him. i just... i’m so bothered by the fact that they were sidelined y’all :|

- also, do not seriously try to tell me that aaarrrgghh!!! would let toby go on his own. he would have went with him. he would have followed him.

- literally as jim was falling the first thing that went through my mind was oh aaarrrgghh!!! is gonna run up and catch him.

- and while we’re on the topic of aaarrrgghh!!! why tf did they have such a build up that something was going to happen to either him or blinky for literally no reason? wtf

- aaarrrgghh!!! would not have let toby go alone!!! if he had been there, he would have protected toby, he would have saved him and none of that mess of an ending would have happened.

* ugh here’s the bit i was dreading... the ending *

- first off, i am choosing to ignore it.

- time stone? really? we’re... we’re gonna do this? literally one of the most original things i have ever watched is now - at the literal last possible minute - rip off another movie?? really?? whyyyy???

- i literally cannot express how much i hated it. it was so fucking unnecessary.

- he didn’t need to go back that far!!!

- i’m actually trying to block this out but i suppose i have to at least touch on it. jim would never ever put that burden on to toby. he just wouldn’t. before even looking at all of the other issues with toby getting the amulet, i need to say that. it just wouldn’t happen. he struggled so much with being the trollhunter, he wouldn’t put that on toby. 

- also toby literally never wanted to be the trollhunter?? he never wanted the amulet? he wanted to be a duke and have his war hammer and go on adventures with his best friend and his wingman and eat mexican food.

- okay so um i guess they all just forgot about unbecoming? cool cool cool.

- seriously though, was it not established many times that jim literally had to be trollhunter? and if he wasn’t it would be draal and everything would go to shit? did they just forget about that??

- having jim just decide to give toby the amulet literally takes away from the entire meaning behind jim getting the amulet and becoming the trollhunter. the amulet chose jim. merlin chose him. out of all of the creatures in the world, it had to be jim. he can’t just give that to toby!!

- and as much as i love toby, he would not last a day as trollhunter.

- and that’s not even beginning to mention all that jim erased by not becoming trollhunter. no father son relationship between him and blinky. they didn’t stop steve from picking on eli so no steve redemption and no creepslayerz. is he just going to allow enrique to be taken? toby will not have the same incentive to go into the darklands to save him if that’s the case. strickler will not show any sort of sentiment towards toby either. and then the big one...

- IS THAT FUCKER REALLY GOING TO ALLOW CLAIRE TO NOT GET HER POWERS??? WHAT???

- if jim isn’t trollhunter and the whole thing with enrique doesn’t happen then claire will never get her shadowstaff. let’s be real, strickler probably wouldn’t even need angor rot with toby as trollhunter. somehow i can’t see him making it that far...

- if claire doesn’t have her shadow staff then the whole thing with morgana won’t happen. she won’t destroy the shadow staff and then she will never develop her powers. would jim really rob her of that?

- okay i can’t do anymore, it’s too much for me now...

- i touched on this already in a separate post but i gotta say it again... i did not enjoy the destiny is a gift bit at the end. first of all, jim having toby find the amulet literally takes the meaning of that speech and his destiny away instanty. and second, i just could not stand hearing emile hirsch say the words that belonged to anton yelchin. it was just uncomfortable.

aaand i think i’m done. maybe i’ll have more later but i have a headache now from all of this.

#rott #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #rott spoilers #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #toby domzalski #blinky #aaarrrgh #wizards #toa #douxie #rise of the titans #trollhunters spoilers #trollhunters rise of the titans

[gaming-universe]

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART FOUR-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar (Girl I’m using all your gifs they are absolutely amazing)

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE|

Another day, another sleepless night.

It was 5am, the sky a light deep blue, and the last of the Soviet soldiers were leaving town. They had searched almost every square inch of this small fishing village, searching for anyone that might be harboring the ones who broke into their base. You thanked whatever god there was that they seemed to forget about Viktor’s house, which was practically veiled by the night sky on a hill below the lighthouse.

You had been awake since one that morning, watching the Soviet soldiers busy about the town like flies on a wound. As dawn broke, you sighed heavily, closing your tired eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. Your head throbbed painfully from the lack of sleep, but between your nightmares, reoccuring memories and the ruckas of the soldiers, you doubted you would have slept much at all anyway.

The door to the house opened softly, followed by light footsteps as they moved behind you to stand on your left. You didn’t have to turn to see who it was, the familiar stench of cigar smoke almost made you choke. You could see Adler in your peripherals just fine, you rolled your eyes in mild annoyance. “Do you always have to wear those aviators?” You found yourself asking, as the man in question began to chuckle. You heard him sigh “No, I don’t always have to wear them”.

“Do you have to wear them at 5am in the morning?”

“I suppose not-”

“Good, because you look stupid”.

Adler laughed again, releasing a stream of smoke from his lips as he shook his head in amusement. But doing as you had somewhat suggested, Adler removed his aviators, and hooked them over one of the open buttons of his shirt. The two of you stood in silence, watching as the sky began to turn an early morning grey. Adler huffed more smoke “Did you sleep last night?” He questioned lowly, now leaning his back against the white wooden railing and turning his head towards you.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you merely shrugged. “I don’t sleep much, not anymore...” You replied smoothly, now wishing that you had never said anything to begin with. You focused your gaze forward again as Adler’s expression fell, he brought the cigar to his lips. You watched as the waves danced in the early morning sunlight, remembering what is was like to be at their mercy. Adler moved closer to your form, flinching slightly as he watched your hands clench into tight fists. You flexed your fingers with a small wince, a sense of pride washing over you as you examined your bruised knuckles.

“How is your jaw?”

“Fucking sore, but thanks for asking”.

You laughed. A soft, genuine laugh as you finally turned to meet Adler’s gaze. His blue hues stared down into your (eye/colour) eyes with a mixture of emotions. His lips parted slightly as he went to speak, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I know you hate me, for everything I have done to you. Nothing I do will ever make up for the amount of shit I have put you through, but you have no idea how hard it was for me to do what I had to do...” He began, his grip on his cigar tightening. “I didn’t want to kill you, I really didn’t. But Park convinced me that killing you was better than the other option-”.

“And what would the other option have been?” You interrupted, folding your arms over your chest. Adler’s jaw clenched, “Letting you go through life not knowing who you were”. You scoffed loudly, stepping away from the taller man before you as you shook your head in disbelief. “She really convinced you that killing me was better than that!? Sure, I might not have ever figured out who I was before, but what was it you said to me after Cuba? ‘The CIA re-invented me’. I could have started a new life, Adler, and you fucking took that away from me” You growled, your eyes narrowing dangerously as you practically seethed with anger.

You paused for a moment to breathe, brushing stray strands of hair from your face as the wind blew in. There was so much more you wanted to say to him, so much you wanted to curse him for.

“Last night you asked me if I regretted it. If I regretted shooting you that day...” Adler spoke softly, almost painfully as his eyes suddenly became a darker shade of blue. “I regretted it, every single goddamned day afterward. And do you want to know why? Because a part of me hoped that you were alive. After you fell I...I hoped to god that you would resurface, that you would have survived that fall. But as the days went by, I realised you weren’t coming back, and that affected me, Y/n, it really did. When Woods and Mason found heard about what I did, they left, and you have no idea how pissed off Hudson was when he found out-”

“I would say just as pissed off as when he discovered that I was the Perseus Agent willing to defect and help the CIA take him down”.

Adler froze, his eyes widening significantly. For the first time in what you assumed was a long time, Adler was speechless. He stared at you completely dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to say. “I...w-what are you-”

“A few days before the whole incident at the airstrip, I sent an enrypted message to the CIA, telling them that I was willing to cooperate and answer any questions they might have had in regards to Perseus in exchange for asylum. I guess my message didn’t reach you in time-”

“But, if you were...” Adler trailed off, once again trying to make sense of things “Why didn’t you tell us? When we found you-”

“Things got a lot more complicated when Arash shot me, I think defecting was the last thing on my mind as I lay bleeding out in that car” You finished explaining, shivering slightly at the cool breeze. Adler hadn’t said a word since you finished your long explaination. He paced back and forth, running a hand along the back of his neck as he sighed heavily. You felt yourself tremble as his gaze focused on your form, he looked at you differently.

He looked at you the same way Mason had before Cuba, with pity, sadness, and empathy. “Y/n I...I’m so sorry, if I-” “Don’t apologise...” You interrupted, shrugging your shoulders awkwardly “I’m not mad about that. Actually, I am, but that isn’t the main issue”. Adler nodded, trying to regain his composure with a long draw of his cigar. You buried your hands beneath your arms, not wanting the man before you to notice their trembling. Clearing your throat, you averted your gaze back out to sea “Did you want to talk about last night, or did you want to wait for Woods and Mason?” You asked, trying to hide the slight shakiness of your voice.

You heard Adler sigh, “Y/n, I have to call Hudson. He needs to hear everything from us, and he will no doubt want to hear everything from you”.

Your blood turned to ice, a cold shiver running down your spine at his words. Call Hudson? You felt your stomach churn uneasily, you swallowed thickly and nervously. There was no way of telling how Hudson would react, how he would-

“Y/n...” Adler spoke softly, now standing before you with his eyes searching your distant expression for anything. Something that would give him an insight into what was going on in that head of yours. You turned to face him, looking up at him sadly. “You do what you need to do. But I just-”

“I know, I’ll take care of it. You can trust me-”

“Can I? Can I trust you?”

When Adler’s expression fell, you felt a strange sense of guilt consume you. You didn’t mean to be so hesitant toward him, you didn’t mean to be careful with who you trusted. But after everything that had been done to you...after everything that had happened...

You froze as Adler moved to step around you, your body becoming rigid as something warm was draped over your shoulders. It was then that you realised you had been shaking violently, and that Adler had given you his beloved brown leather jacket. You quickly spun around to face him, managing to catch the fleeting smile he gave you. Then you knew.

Adler understood. He understood where you were coming from. That you needed time to trust him again. “Like you said last night...” He began softly, giving you a barely there smile “no more lies, no more bullshit. Take things in your own time, but I want that jacket back, got it?”. With that being said, Adler turned slowly and made his way back inside, leaving you alone on the wooden terrace. When you were sure he was gone, you wrapped Adler’s jacket around your form tightly and collapsed to your knees, crying softly as strange, compassionate feelings overtook your worry, anxiety and guilt.

When you had calmed down, you leaned back against the wooden railing, letting your head rest against the wooden slats as you breathed deeply. You tried to ignore the scent of Adler’s jacket filling your nose, a mixture of old leather combined with cigar smoke and some kind of cologne.

As the sun began to peak through the grey clouds blanketing the islands, you decided that it was best for you to head inside. You still had the matters of last night to discuss, as well as the oh so joyous anticipation of waiting for Hudson to arrive.

After changing into more comfortable and warmer clothes, you begrudgingly gave Adler back his jacket, giving him a warm smile in thanks before disappearing into the living room. 

Woods and Mason were playing poker with Viktor, and losing horribly. “How the fuck did you manage to get another royal flush?” Woods complained, this his cards down atop the coffee table with an annoyed groan “I swear you’ve rigged the damn thing”. Viktor chuckled, gathering his winnings with a sly wink in your direction as you passed. “When you have played this game for as long as I have, you learn all the tricks of the trade” He responded, as Woods threw his hands out in exasperation.

You watched on from the far wall, grinning as Mason caught your gaze. He waved you over “Hey Y/n, did you want to join us?” He asked, to which you shook you head with an amused scoff. “No thanks, I would like to keep my money-” “Wuss...” Woods teased “I’ll play for you” “No, I’m good thank you, but I appreciate the offer”.

Woods groaned again as Mason laughed, while Viktor practically bled them both dry. Adler emerged from the kitchen, moving to stand by your side. “Adler, lend me some money, I need beat this old man at least once!” Woods exclaimed, gesturing towards Viktor with an extended hand. Adler shook his head “No, I’m not doing that” He replied, glaring at Woods’ obscene gesture thrown in his direction. You chuckled quietly, looking up at the man beside you with a small shrug. “How did you go?” You asked, not liking the way his gaze fell. He huffed “Hudson has a few things to take care of in Washington before he gets here, but he plans on arriving sometime tonight”.

“Well, I guess we can’t really do anything until we inform him of what is going on then?”.

“We can prepare what we are going to say? Combine our knowledge”.

You nodded hesitantly “I really don’t know much. But whatever those soldiers were doing up there is in relation to something called Operation Hyrda”. The entire living room fell silent, as all eyes now focused on you. “Operation Hydra? What the hell is that?” Mason asked, his eyes narrowing in confusion. You sighed “From what I’ve remembered, Operation Hydra is a failsafe for Operation Greenlight. Reading that name back in that bunker triggered something. All I know so far, is that Perseus and I are the only ones who know of the failsafe”.

“And because we brainwashed you, you can’t remember what this Operation Hyrda entails” Adler interrupted, his eyes remaining trained on your smaller form. You nodded as Adler cursed, cringing at his dangerous tone “I’m trying to remember, if that helps-”

“I know you are, we’ll figure it out” Adler spoke distantly, before once again disappearing back into the kitchen. You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose with a groan. If only you could remember something, even if it was small. Every little detail counted right? A gentle hand was placed on your shoulder, causing you to flinch as your eyes lifted to meet the warm expression of Mason. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about this...” He soothed “it’s not your fault you can’t remember”.

“I know, but knowing that I’m missing something important is just...” You paused, breathing deeply in through your nose and out through your mouth “I feel so fucking useless”.

“You might feel like that now, but it won’t always be like this...” Woods spoke solemnly from his position on the couch. “Sure, it might take you a while to remember things, but you will get there. Just don’t be so hard on yourself, alright?”. You nodded slowly, allowing his words to sink in. Though Woods did have a point, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden to the team.

As your lips parted to respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Your head tilted to the side in confusion, your gaze meeting Woods and Masons’ who wore similar expressions. Adler emerged from the kitchen, carefully moving past you and Mason towards the front of the door. You waited anxiously as two voices echoed down into the living room. As footsteps approached, your body became rigid as Adler moved past you to stand on the other side of the room, followed by a woman you knew all too well.

Her midnight hair was slightly longer, but her brown eyes widened upon landing on your form before her expression hardened. All you could do was glare at Park, as she stood in the doorway to the living room.

Tag List: @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat @staryozora @lovinggooppalacebanana @ktdragonborn @quietblogs-2-rd @cerezi @alluringartangels​

#russell adler x reader #russell adler #russell adler imagine #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #call of duty black ops cold war

[faangirl101]

Burning Heart: Pt 3

Burning heart masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x reader, Zuko x y/n

Tags: Enemies to lovers, slow burn

Summary: Raised mostly by yourself, you made a living for your youth years as a maid in one of the richest families in Ba sing se, Beifongs. There Toph, a blind young rich girl, taught you earth bending and also became your new family. Not that you would admit that to her. Together you escape Ba sing se on the back of a flying bison with the Avatar, in a mission to take back the world from the fire nation. But on the journey you didn’t plan to team up with the Fire prince himself, and you definitely did not plan to get butterflies around him. But you couldn’t possibly catch feelings for a fire bender right? They ruined your life and took everything of value from you. But you couldn’t lie to your burning heart.

Warnings: swearing

I thought that since Toph was actually blind now, feet burned beyond recognition, that she would go easy on me today. I was clearly wrong. She was quickly up on her feet again (pun intended). Toph had been teaching me earth bending in secret since i was a maid to her family so her tough teaching techniques were no surprise. She had me and Aang working to the bone before we finally, covered in sweat, got a break. Or more like I got a break while Aang had his next bending lesson. Fire. His first. I couldn't help my curiosity as I stood leaned against the closest wall watching Zuko in his professor role.  The balcony of the upside down pagoda in the temple was hot. Sweat was climbing up my back as I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. Zuko seemed to catch Aang's hyper demaoner “I know you're nervous, but remember, firebending in it of itself is not something to fear.” Aang didn't meet his eyes but sighed deeply instead “Okay. Not something to fear”.Zuko nodded as he closed his fists. “But if you don't respect it”, he raised his voice so it echoed through the temple “it'll chew you up and spit you out like an angry komodo rhino!”. I held back the laugh threatening at the picture of Zuko with tensed eyes and a yelping Aang. Zuko clearly picked the “bad cop” technique when it came to teaching, just like Toph. He crossed his arms over his strong chest and took a step backwards “Now show me what you've got. Any amount of fire you can make”. Aang inhales nervously as he hesitates and moves out his arms. I can see fear in his eyes as they focus on the palm of his hand. A small, almost impossible to catch, cloud of smoke appears. But as fast as it comes it dissipates to nothing. The look on Aang was a blend of disappointment and relief.

Aang looked up hopefully “Maybe i need a little more instruction. Perhaps a demonstration?”. Zuko raised an eyebrow “Good idea, You might wanna take a couple steps back”. Even if he wasn't talking to me I obliged and moved further back. I hadn't seen him in action up close yet. I was unsure what to expect but that was definitely not it.  With a grunt Zuko opens his tightly closed fist to let out…. a flame smaller than the palm of my hand. Aang, supportive as he was, applauded at this disappointing display. Me? i bursted out laughing, finally alerting them of my presence. They both sharply turned to me, who was doubled over in laughter. “You might wanna take a couple steps back?”I wiped away fake tears “What was that? That was the worst firebending I've ever seen!”. Zuko did not take that mockery ease as he pursed his lips hard enough to break his jaw.  Aang interrupted Zuko before he could yell at me “I thought it was...nice”. He smiled slightly and shrugged which made it even harder to hold back my smile.

Zuko, annoyed at my amused face, tried to prove me wrong. He let out a loud grunt, which made a wave of excitement go through my stomach. But I pretended I didn't even notice it. His next three attempts resulted in very very small flames similar to the first. Defeated he glares frustrated down at his palms “what is happening”. Aang rubbed his head, trying to comfort Zuko “maybe it's the altitude”.I left my safe spot to move my way to them “Or maybe you can't firebend anymore, which is like the only reason we took you in”. Zuko’s burning eyes just lit my amusement more “oh oh! i call dibs on Zuko’s room when we throw him out”. Aang stretches his smaller hand out to stop me from upsetting anybody further. Zuko scrowls as he turns his back at me with clearly better self control than I thought he had. Time passes and Zuko keeps pushing himself with no improvement. Aang was sitting beside me on a broken pillar as we watched Zuko deliver a pointless blast after another. “that one kind of felt hot”, Aang bursted out as he got on his feet. I snickered at his comment, as I swung my legs against the pillar. But Zuko got angry, angrier than he had ever become after any of my comments. “Don't patronize me! You know what it’s supposed to look like!”. He was right, I had seen many fire benders but no one was as worthless as Zuko at the moment. “He didn't need to patronize you, you do that very well on your own”. Zuko aimed a flame at me that was even worse than his previous ones “Shut up!”. Aang held up his hands in defense “ Sorry, Sifu Hotman”. I bursted out laughing so hard it hurt the depths of my stomach.  Zuko raises his arms above his head and throws them back with a shout of frustration. Aang gringes at his sudden outburst. “And stop calling me that!”, Zuko yells which makes me laugh possibly even harder.

Night creeps up on us as everyone is getting settled for dinner. Even Appa has a mouthful of hay as he rests next to the fountain. Everyone is busy calming their rouring stomachs, everyone except Zuko. He’s leaning on a column with his arms crossed, looking down the cracked ground under him. He looks deep in thought with his wrinkled forehead, but no one seems to notice. No one except me of course. Suddenly he turns his head to the campfire as he makes his way over to where we’re sitting. “Listen everybody, I've got some pretty bad news. I've lost my stuff”, He looks below dejectedly. Toph, used to being accused of stealing by now, raises her hands above her head. “Don't look at me!”, she folded her arms “i didn't touch your stuff”. I giggle at her outburst and enjoy the view of Zuko’s ashamed face. He looks down again “I'm talking about my firebending. It's gone”. I cross my arms and throw my legs up on a pillar “as if you even had it in the first place”. Everybody around the fireplace sits up, different emotions painted on their faces. Sokka is the only one giving me a reaction as he pretends to fire bends with an annoyed face like Zuko had been doing the entire day. It brought a quiet shaking laugh from me. But my laugh quieted down as a clearer brighter laughter took place. Katara had her head bent backwards as her body shook from the laugh. Was Katara… mocking Zuko. It was the only time Katara had done anything remotely funny, but it still deep down struck a nerve that she was making fun of  him. It was my job. But I couldn't possibly be petty over such a small pointless thing. Everyone had turned their attention towards her, including Zuko, who had an annoyed expression twisting his handsome face. She held her hands up, hiding her face “I'm sorry. I'm just laughing at the irony. You know, how it would've been nice for us if you lost your firebending a long time ago”. Zuko gringed “Well, it's not lost. It's just ... weaker for some reason”. Katara held up her bowl and glared at Zuko over the brim “Maybe you're not as good as you think you are”. Both me and Toph, alike as we are, Made a hissing noise at the same time and met each other's eyes “ouch”.  Zuko ignored Toph's sarcastic smile as he brightened up with an idea “I bet it's because I changed sides”. Katara gave him another glare as she brought the bowl to her lips “That's ridiculous”. It was the first time I had seen Aang disagree with Katara “I don't know. Maybe it isn't. Maybe your firebending comes from rage and you just don't have enough anger to fuel it the way you used to”.

“Zuko has not been angry? then what have i been doing all day”, i smirked over at Sokka who returned the facial expression. He leans towards zuko and points a finger above “Easy enough”. He pokes Zuko with his shining swords hilt in the head and waist several times. Toph and I cling onto each other to not fall over from laughing. Zuko growles behind closed teeth “okay cut it out!”. Sokka's sword slips from his hands and is thrown above before falling on his head. Zuko sighs and rubs his nose “look, even if you're right. I don't want to rely on hate and anger anymore. There has to be another way”.

Sokka rubs his head in pain from the burst with the sword but no one seems to pay him any care. Toph takes a big bite from her food “You're gonna need to learn to draw your firebending from a different source. I recommend the original source”.I furrowed my eyebrows “I thought that fire bending's original source was pain, rage and suffering”. I didn't miss the way Zuko pursed his lips and looked down in something similar to shame. Sokka seemed to forget his head injury as he excitedly looked up “How's he supposed to do that? By jumping into a volcano?”.Toph shook her head and wiggles her feet “No. Zuko needs to go back to whatever the original source of firebending is”. Sokka's dreams of Zuko diving into a volcano is crushed “So, is it jumping into a volcano?”.

“I don't know”,  Toph puts her bowl down beside her “For earthbending, the original benders were badgermoles''. I remembered the many times Toph had brought me to the tunnels and showed me where she met the Badgermoles. That seemed like forever ago.  “Isn't the original fire benders Dragons? Where the fuck are we going to find a dragon just chilling?”, I looked up at Zuko who sighed deeply. “we are not going to, Dragons are extinct”. Aang shook his head “What do you mean‌? Roku had a dragon, and there were plenty of dragons when I was a kid”. Zuko's face twists up, as if he knows something we don't. “Well, they aren't around anymore, okay?”. I feel bad for Aang because he yelps at Zuko's harsh tone. “Okay, okay!”,he moved his arms in an appeasing manner “I'm sorry”. Zuko moves on his long slender legs to the fountain. “But maybe there's another way”, he looks away in deep thought “The first people to learn from the dragon were the ancient Sun warriors”.Aang who always seemed to think he knew the most since he was technically 100 years older than the rest walks towards Zuko. “Sun warriors? Well I know they weren't around when i was a kid”, Aang stood beside Zuko now. “No, they died off thousands of years ago. But their civilization wasn't too far from where we are now”, Zuko  tilts his head toward Aang “Maybe we can learn something by poking around their ruins''. Sokka mirrors my suspicions “So what? Maybe you'll pick up some super old sun warrior energy just by standing where they stood a thousand years ago?”. He backs up his question by flaring his hands around in a weird motion which makes me hit my forehead with my hand. Zuko shifted his weight forward. “More or less. Either I find a new way to firebend '', he turns his head towards Aang ”or the Avatar has to find a new teacher”.

When Zuko left with the Avatar, the temple seemed to become much more quiet. Haru, the Duke and Teo were on yet another exploration mission. Katara was worrying for Aang, while she cooked the same meal we had been eating for days. Toph, Sokka and I laid spread out, floating over the water in the fountain. The heat had been getting worse and it was the only way to cool down. Sokka threw a worried look at her sister.“What do you think Sifu hotman and smaller bald Kyoshi is doing right now?”, I asked as I sat up in the fountain. My soaked hair was dripping down my back. Sokka smiled half way “Zuko is probably pissed because his worthless Sun warrior plan is not working out and Aang is probably playing peacemaker and trying to calm him down”.  Toph smirked and splashed some water with her feet. Katara sneered at us and I wondered if it was because she didn't like that we were talking about Aang or if she was jealous that we were bonding better then she had done with any of us. I was guessing on the latter. “If you could have any original animal from any bend type, which one would you have?”, Sokka asked to change the conversation subject. Toph didn't even need to think  for a second “obviously the badgermoles”. Sokka looked offended “really? You would pick a blind disgusting rat over a flying bison?”. I inhaled dramatically “Blind disgusting rat?! That's my best friend you're talking about!”. Sokka burst out in laughter and Toph rolled her eyes ironically “ha ha ha”.  I looked forward, deep in thought “I hate the fire nation but honestly the dragon is the most badass”. Sokka lifted an eyebrow surprised “they're extinct, remember?”. Katara moved a spoon through the home made meal as she mumbled “i wish that the entire fire nation was extinct”. We all fell silent, like we mostly did everytime Katara opened her mouth. I thought about how different my life would have been if the fire nation didn't exist. I would still have my mom. I would have grown up with a present and loving father. If my mom had gotten good care while giving birth, instead of hiding in a barn from the fire nation, she wouldn't have died in childbirth. And if my mom hadn't died, my dad wouldn't have blamed me for her death. He wouldn't have been slaughtered by the fire nation when they invaded my home years later on the look for something we didn't even have. But I would never have met Toph. I would never have gotten so good at earth bending. I wouldn't have met the avatar gang. But I still closed my eyes and imagined a world without the fire nation for just another second.

by the look of Aangs and Zuos excited faces when they returned, I guessed it was a successful mission. I can't help but feel relieved that they're okay, and to my surprise I'm relieved for both of them. A sense of calm fills me when I see that they're BOTH unharmed, but I would never admit that to anybody. They're quick to get into positions to start demonstrating what the sun warriors taught them. They moved gracefully, every motion mirrored between them as yin and yan. Fire licked the sides of their bodys without hurting them, as if the fire and their bodies were one. I had grown up with the view of fire as a plot of destruction, a tool for suffering and power play. But now, in the upside-down pagodas in the Western Air Temple, the fire looked nothing like that. It wasn't violent. It was beautiful, I could see shades of blue and green. I could see all the colors of the rainbow within the flames, similar to the reflection of water. Or the sharpened glass in the depths of the earth. Or how air bent sunlight on a hot day. I could see all elements moving from the palms of their hands in the shape of combustions of flames. Deep deep down within my bones I could feel a yearn for the fighting of flames. A longing for the feel of the heat against my hands, that I quickly pushed down. Fire was dangerous, it was not beautiful. It was difficult to convince myself when I left the hole of lament in my heart. The rest of the avatar gang interrupted my thoughts with applause as the two got into their final postures. “Yeah, that's a great dance you two learned there”, Sokka bursted out playfully. Normally i would join him with a remark myself but i wasn't in the mood. My feelings were conflicted and I couldn't focus on anything else. Zuko seemed offended. “It's not a dance. It's a firebending form”. Sokka moves his fingers in a dancing manner “We’ll just tap-dance our way to victory over the Fire Lord”.

Zuko makes his way over to Sokka with a threatening glimpse in his eyes “It's a sacred form that happens to be a thousand years old!”. Katara crosses her arms “Oh yeah? What is your little form called?”. Zuko's eyes met the ground embarrassed “The dancing Dragon”. The gang erupted in loud laughter as Zujo gringes in embarrassment. I stand quiet, not paying attention to how Zuko turns to me. “You haven't said any mocking remark about our form”, he bent down to my level to try to catch my attention. “You mean your dance?”I ask and raise an eyebrow. He mimics my expression “Really? is that it?”. I didn't even catch his bait as I waved him away “I'm not in the mood”. As I moved away I felt Zuko's burning eyes on the plate of my back. “Since when is she not in the mood”, Zuko mumbled to himself, confused. I was busy thinking about how I had longed to touch fire. The thing that destroyed my life.

Taglist: @eridanuswave , @Whalerus, @keiko0, @emogril , @theblueslytherin , @bbecc-a 

#atla #atla fanfiction #atla zuko #Zuko #zuko fanfic #zuko x reader #zuko x you #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar the legend of aang #avatar fanfiction #avatar the legend of korra #aang #katara #sokka #toph

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully. 

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s. 

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her. 

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again. 

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought. 

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #not gonna melt down in the tags even though i wanna #just. thank you all so so so much. this has been incredible to write and enjoy and make so many friends #yes i am crying do not LOOK at me

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Devour Me

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader Warning(s): Drug Use (Marijuana), Smut 18+ (sorta...as I edited this it actually isn’t that bad) Word Count: 1,373 Prompt: “Every Other Freckle” by Alt-J Oh, devour me - if you think that you can handle me. Beta Reader: @supersoldiersruined-me​ Notes: This is the first time I’ve failed and been this late for a challenge. Sorry everyone! But congrats to @heli0s-writes for 2k (probs waaaay more by now). Here some poorly translated Russian 

Пиздец = Damn it, Ты умеешь стучать? = Can you knock?!, Я собираюсь убить ее! = I’m going to kill her!

“Why don’t you just come over after your date?”

“Oh honey, that would be too late. I wouldn’t want to wake you.” The warmth in Natasha’s voice on the other end of the phone is a poor substitute for your best friend’s presence.

“You know I hate Valentine’s day. Everyone’s gone. Tony and Pepper are on some huge week long trip. Steve and Sharon left an hour ago and now you’re gone too. I’m just gonna end up getting stoned in my room.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“So come do it with me when your date is done boring you,” you try to goad her once more.

“Babe, I was lying. I won’t be home late. I won’t be home at all. My ass is getting laid tonight. Even if the date is boring.”

“Lucky bitch. Well have fun with boring Kevin or whatever his name is, for me.”

“Don’t be so jealous. It’s not a good look on you. Take some hits for me, hun. I’ll see you in the morning and we can get brunch or something.”

You let the phone click off the speakerphone and remain plopped on your sternum before taking a hit off your vape. She did say to take a hit for her after all. Besides, how else were you going to kick off this Valentine’s pity party if you weren't sufficiently stoned?

If you were being honest with yourself it wasn’t until recently that you started hating the holiday. It wasn’t even really Valentine’s Day that was so bad but more what it reminded you of. You were newer to the Avengers Team and were still adjusting. It seemed like everyone had managed to master the attention that came with the role. All it seemed to grant you with was newfound anxiety piled atop the bit you already had. Any chance at dating seemed shattered. Good luck finding someone with “shared life experiences” as Steve had once put it.

Natasha had encouraged you to be more guarded with your identity and go out with anyone you wanted; like she did. Then again, she wasn’t really the relationship type. More the one night stand with no attachments sorta girl. Sam had suggested you be more candid and use your newfound attention to your advantage. Neither advice had really helped and now you were just stuck. Valentine’s Day was the perfect magnifying glass to an issue that you weren’t really sure how to address.

The current more pressing problem at hand however, was your lack of chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate chip cookies with milk. You take another hit from your pen before sliding it into the pocket of your lounge shorts and make your way to the kitchen.

“Cookies, cookies. Gonna stuff my face with some cookies,” you singsong to yourself. You pop the cookies into the toaster oven for a couple seconds to warm up while pouring your milk. The chocolate morsels need a tad longer to really have that molten goo that you’re craving so you put them back in. You feel yourself salivating as you sing your cookie song once more; staring into the toaster oven with impatience and no doubt a mildly glazed over expression.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The yelp that explodes out of you is some inhumane sound. Your heart stutters in your chest attempting to regain its normal rhythm.

“Bucky?!” You manage to drag some ragged breaths into your lungs staring at your teammate. He’s wandered in from the living room attached to the kitchen. From the looks of his sweatpants he was having a similar night in until you’d startled one another. “What are you doing here?”

“Having a chill night in. Thought I was alone. What are you- holy shit you’re baked!” The brunette can barely contain his fit of laughter. “That explains the cookies...and the song.”

“Just for that I’m not sharing my cookies or my bud.”

He doesn’t respond but instead points over his shoulder to the coffee table in the living room. It’s covered with a variety of snacks as well as what looks like a beautiful bong.

“Looks like we had the same idea for plans tonight.” He chuckles softly to himself. “I’ll trade you some chips or pizza for some cookies?”

“Looks like you got yourself a deal, Barnes. But I wanna try a hit off that bong.”

***

The night hadn't passed how you originally intended but you found yourself content laying on the couch. Bucky and you had settled in head to feet. Perhaps it was your buzzed state or just his closeness, but each press of his left arm against the bare skin of your legs was something you were acutely aware of. The cool metal had warmed from the prolonged contact and he rested the length of his arm down the expanse of your leg. The flat of his palm landed just shy of your knee and would occasionally rub small circles that were setting you on fire.

At this point you weren’t vollying questions back and forth. You were both content to sit and listen to the music. You and Bucky had quickly found you both enjoyed Alt-J and had set the playlist to random for their songs. You recognize the mellow beats and patterns as “Tessellate” coming from the speakers.

“Do you get lonely?”

You had no idea what possessed you to ask the question so open and honestly but you found yourself truly needing to know if someone else felt the way you did.

“All the time,” he says without missing a beat. “This sounds a little dramatic but sometimes I feel lonely in a crowded room. Like I just want to find someone who gets me. I mean, I have Steve. But he’s my best friend. I just don’t have… I don’t know.”

“I get it.”

You squeeze his calf gently in response to try to drive home how much you really empathize; hoping you could transmit all your emotions you were feeling in that one touch. Your heart drops into your stomach when he pulls his leg away from you and sits up; completely disrupting the bubble of comfort you two had shared. You can’t help but clamp your eyes shut to hold back tears you know will make their showing soon.

A warm weight settles down atop your body. Bucky had shifted on the couch to now be flush to you. He used his arms to brace himself waiting for your permission. Not trusting your words you nod and he settles deeper into the couch. The weight of his body is comforting in a way you’d never experienced.

“Doll, I really wanna kiss you right now.”

A moment passes where your brain short circuits. You can’t form words. The voice croons from the speaker “Oh, devour me - if you think that you can handle me.Oh, devour me - if you think that you can handle me.” Not trusting your voice to answer with any further conviction, you snake your hand behind his neck and pull him down.

Kissing Bucky is languid and honey sweet. You’d never imagined feeling so warm. He seemed to evelop you everywhere  You felt as though your lungs might burst. You couldn’t get enough air but simply didn’t want to stop tasting his lips against your own. You lose track of how long the two of you lay there kissing back and forth. The pace ebbs and flows naturally with each wave up reaching a crest higher than the one before.

You feel the firm pressure of Bucky’s cock pressing against your surely soaked core. He makes no move to pressure you to go further but instead continues to suck gently at a soft spot on your neck drawing out a whine you don’t recognize as your own.

***

“Пиздец Natalia! Ты умеешь стучать?!”

Your blissful high is shattered by Bucky’s bellowing from between your legs at the redhead in the entrance to the living room.

“Sorry babe. Told you we could get brunch.” Instead of cursing Bucky has resorted to throwing pillows at her. “The offer is still on the table. Bucky is also welcome...even though it looks like he already ate!”

“Я собираюсь убить ее!”

#heli0s2kwriting #Bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #stoner!bucky #stoner!bucky x reader #my writing #my fics #sooooooo late

[twiststreet]

As a fan of manga (mostly everything Tezuka), I'm intrigued by your comments about One Piece, but my assumption is it HAS to be at least PRETTY GOOD to be as popular as it is and to have run as long as it has. I'd be interested in more detailed posts about it, as well as how you recommend reading it, if you do. On a somewhat related note, today I started reading all of Batman. Planning to go from 1939 to 1999, when I first picked up the comics.

Whoops I wrote a lot; sorry:

I’m 615 chapters in out of 1000 (and in the middle of the Fish-Man Island saga which I think fans rank as either the worst or second-worst arc)(the other worst one, this bad tournament arc, I’ve already gotten past)... so I guess I have a lot to say, but you know, nothing especially original, just...

There’s a stretch (namely, the Water 7 arc all the way through Marineford) that is a hall of fame stretch.  He drops like 5-6 arcs that just land perfect right in row (though it’s hard to imagine it ever reaching the heights of the second arc in that series, Ennies Lobby ever again).  But that being said, it’s a little funny to tell anyone “Oh it takes 150 chapters to get really good” (that’s at least 2000+ pages of comics) let alone, that the A+ stuff starts 300 chapters in.  A chapter of One Piece only takes a minutes or so to read, if that, but it’s still a big ask.  People used to get angry if you told them that Deadwood only gets good after 3-4 hours, so... 

But that stretch is ... not “life-affirming” but... it touches a very old part of my brain in a very satisfying way.  

I had a whole long post I deleted because I thought it was boring, but... when I was into classical American superhero comics, the thing I’d constantly be nerdiest about is that there was this Great Possibility, to do something truly epic in that space which I didn’t think had been done.  There’s been a few novels (Watchmen, the Enigma) but not that many.  And American superhero comics don’t really have a Lord of the Rings or a Star Wars or, an example for me as a kid even though I hadn’t read all the books was the Gunslinger books (or sure, The Stand if The Stand had maybe a different ending?  I don’t know-- I’m not watching the TV show but I don’t really remember that ending fondly).  The epic driven by a creator who is creating his own personal mythology, basically.  Most of the genre is tied to pre-existing universes which foreclose that as a possibility and people who work outside those universes tend to just make shit like that Peter Cannon thing or Supreme or whatever that comments back on those universes...

Maybe you could argue the Hickman X-Men thing but for me, everyone after Claremont on X-Men is just inheriting so much from Claremont that... It means very little to me. It’s not a personal mythology. Same with Crisis.  The closest to me comics came was Kirby with the 4th World, but... Carmine Infantino shut that down. And the Claremont run itself is ... an interesting discussion, but again, Bob Harras.  But back before Watchmen 2, back when I thought comics could be this thing that improve over time (haha), I’d look for that (or for any ambition!  any!) and just gave up as time went on.  The careerist generation came in; the ambitions shrank even further; etc., to where I’m at now where my attitude generally with comics is “that’s nice; who care; so, is your wife dating anyone right now, what’s her story?”  

But then One Piece ... One Piece, of all things, becomes this epic thing!  And it’s great!  I was right that it would be great!!!  I was right! (My favorite thing to be!).  

Not at first-- at first the formula is “Wacky Pirates go to an Island, they find out something sad is going on in the Island, a character acting extremely emotional causes the biggest fight possible which goes on for 50 chapters, and then they leave the island and maybe take someone with them.”  And that’s a lot of big arcs... until little by little, tiny bit by tiny bit, Oda’s built up this world.  And then that world starts to become the story.  And that’s still kind of the formula but... but then they’re stakes.

The archetypal shonen cliche story is “a boy wants to be the best in the world at something”, right, but what One Piece does (and I haven’t read as much as other people so I don’t know how common this is, I haven’t read Naruto or Bleach, neither of which I’m too excited to check out, though i think david brothers vouches for Bleach heavy so I’ll probably give that one a shot), what One Piece does is sees how that would necessarily become a political struggle eventually.  Because what does it mean to be the best in the world at something when there’s an entire world out there already in operation, and built around you not being the best in the world, built around someone else being that...

And then there’s just this amount of worldbuilding that goes on, that is so slowly fed out over those first 300 episodes that you don’t even notice it... Until suddenly around Water 7, these bigger forces have now noticed our wacky pirates, and are shifting around them and getting upset about them.  Culminating in this arc called Marineford that ... again not as good as Ennies Lobby but... I don’t think there’s a comparable arc in American comics to Marineford.  The scale of that one... The fact he managed to draw that on a weekly basis!

While still being a goofy kid’s pirate comic.  It’s funny.  The power sets are all really silly, but in a way that reminds of how kids play more than a Dragonball thing.  (He takes like 400-500 chapters to even get to a Dragonball-style levelling up concept, which I thought was pretty patient of him).  But within that, I’m enjoying it now in a very Claremont way of... there now not just being these scrappy outcast heroes I’m rooting for, but an entire universe of people around them, with their own agendas, that I have varying levels of investment in.

There’s this saying that the Golden Age of science fiction is 12 years old, the idea being that’s the age where stuff lands with you the hardest because it’s all NEW for you.  But the thing is if you’re really immature (lifts hand)... I think part of things is you run out of the Good Stuff.  I go back and look at old Chris Claremont X-Mens and if I somehow find one I’ve never read before (and this was the lesson of Dazzler in Hollywood for me), I’m still right there, it still lands with me, there just aren’t that many people who can actually land that plane.  Once Scorcese is gone, what gangster movies are people going to be watching?  Blow?  Savages?  Kubrick only made the movies he made.  People add a little every year, but the really good stuff is rare.  

And so when I’m looking at One Piece and I’m enjoying it the way I’d enjoy a Claremont X-men comic (even if aesthetically it’s a VERY different thing-- sexless and not as weirdo-operatic and less violent and more childish and definitely younger-skewing)... but that I’m getting that same thrill of “oh this comic is a portal to this entire fictional universe this guy made up and that kind of exists now thanks to this (kinda disturbing I guess it turns out) guy” to me is...  Not “life affirming” that’s not the right word but... It feels good on my brain to know.  Because then being sour and grouchy isn’t just me getting older and the inevitability of age-- then it’s just... People need to make better shit!!!  Or I need to do a better job not wasting my time on, you know, an industry that’s not built to deliver what I need as a reader...

I mean, I’ve been saying for more than 10 years, I should just quit American comics and just be one of those guys to switch to manga.  And I’m not 100% there because... I mean, because of Copra and because of like an extremely small list of things that aren’t Copra.  (I just signed for Kate Beaton’s Patreon).  But... I’m 95% there, and it’s been great, and I just feel dumb for not having done it earlier.  

One Piece has big problems, too.  (There’s a whole “Sanji meets drag queens” thing that’s very much not landing with me right now).   I don’t think you can ever top Ennies Lobby because Ennies Lobby is about convincing a suicidal person whose been betrayed their whole life that life’s worth fighting for-- there’s never going to be an emotional engine to the story that’s as good as that one.  It’s trying to work its way back to a “normal One Piece story” in this Fish arc and it’s... I want to see it level up again!  The core cast is just a little too big (it really didn’t need Bones).  I think the shonen model generally creates a sort of “power arms race” where it’s like constantly “oh you learned how to crush mountains with your dick in the last arc?  Well, too bad our mountains are made of diamonds now” escalations that ... feel a little like a treadmill as opposed to a story.  I feel like it needs to kick into a Second Act, after the big ending of that first Act at Marineford.  And just... I don’t know how it can keep topping some of these fights, and think it’d get to be diminishing returns to find out. But... 

A “team of buddies versus the world” is already a great thing for a story to be about, and it’s just really satisfying having One Piece having the “the world” part of that equation being so complicated and varied and colorful.  It’s like if the Ocean’s 11 gang had to rob an overwhelming-more-powerful global crime syndicate, with multiple competing factions, while still convincing Julia Roberts to love them-- they just robbed Andy Garcia and I watch that movie like once a year.

(And thematically, the comic-- it’s not deep, but it’s basically got an anti-authoritarian streak to it, which I think is important for a kid comic to have.  It’s a pirate comic and you can’t really do a pirate comic without being like “fuck the cops” at least a little bit.  The pirate thing is interesting because it basically means that there’s always a discussion going on about what it means to be free, though I think sometimes the comic doesn’t really reckon with that-- it sometimes falls back into “well if there was a good monarch though” thinking... but there being good pirates and bad pirates and good government characters and bad ones, I like that... and the very worst characters just being rich assholes... yeah, good lessons in One Piece for the kids!!). 

That and I just like how that dude draws.  He’s not doing some dreary realism thing-- the layouts are fun without being showy or confusing-- he really improves as the series goes on (though some of the recent stuff I’ve seen hasn’t looked as good, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing low-quality scans or he’s been thrown a loop cause of COVID or what).  I’ll always put up with a boring stretch in a comic if someone, like, crosshatches an arm in a way that I find interesting, so that probably distorts how I read One Piece too...

I could go on and on, basically because ... goddamn, what else do I have to talk about, ughhh.  But yeah: that’s why I think it’s popular-- it’s the worldbuilding.  It’s 100% the worldbuilding.  (By which I’d include that it has this massive cast, that i can keep kinda clear in my head, not all of whom want the same things, etc.)(though also geographically-- there are maps and everything)... But recommend it?  I don’t know-- I mean... It’s a little kid’s pirate comic.  There’s a THOUSAND of them.  It’s more modern than a Tezuka thing-- it’s jumping off more from Toriyama than Tezuka, and that’s a different vibe. It’s like not something you can just “recommend”-- it’s a major time sink.  I’d recommend Chainsaw Man first to someone with my age and background because even though it has its own flaws, it’s more “age appropriate” and there are only 90 chapters, and it’s got that rad stretch about 20 chapters in so you see the “good part” faster... 

#one piece #Worst Hobby or Worstest Hobby?

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Which Fic

I was tagged by @stusbunker!

Which of your fics…

…did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

Finally. I think reader engagement has definitely declined in general, though.

…got a better reaction than you expected?

The Right Spot. I’m still a little flabbergasted by how popular this was. Like, I thought it was hot, but I didn’t realize that many people would be into it. 

Runner-up, The One Where Reid Is Reading Harry Potter. This is such a dorky little bit of wishful thinking; I really didn’t expect it to get any notes, but I love that so many people shared my emotional attachment to reading out loud. 

…is your funniest?

The Rockstar AU, especially Daisies and Cheers. There’s so much comedic potential in all those characters that doesn’t get put to use because of what they all do; I just started thinking about what they would be like if they were making music and partying, instead of saving the world, and fuckin ran with it. 

Runner-up, Brains Over Beauty. Mostly because I refer to Sam as “Lumberjack Ken.” I’m still giggling over that. 

…is your darkest or angstiest?

Set Yourself On Fire. It’s about Sam between seasons 3 and 4, and it touches on some things that came from a very real emotional place: self-destructive tendencies, depression, drinking, drugs, that sort of fun stuff. I have a lot of fics that are sad or feelsy, but there’s usually some sort of positive spin. This one is just fuckin dark, emotionally. 

…is your absolute favorite?

Probably the Coffee & Psychopaths series. When I started writing Quitting, I knew there were a couple parallels between the characters that I wanted to write about, but the more I wrote, the more I found... and I’m still amazed by the way those canon plotlines wove together. So. Much. Plot. 

This series has become a place for me to dive headfirst into philosophy, psychology, neuroscience, dorky history trivia, and so many more of my favorite subjects, and tie them together with Sam and Spencer character studies, and I love being able to connect all those dots. I love every single fucking sentence of this series so far and I can’t wait to write more. 

 …is your least favorite?

I Can Change. It was my first fic in the Supernatural fandom and when I started it, I had no idea where it was going.

…was the easiest to write?

Big Damn Heroes. I’d had a few of those character exchanges in my head for a loooong time, and the crossover challenge gave me an excuse to finally write them out. I had so much fun writing that and I think it shows.

…was hardest to write?

Lost At Sea (But I Am Home). All of Marked was difficult in its own way (trauma processing! Fun times!) but this even more so. The plot is very very subtle, there’s a lot of emotional nuance happening, and I really wanted to stay true to Dean as a character, and the meta bits are, like, deep and meaningful and shit, and on top of all that I saddled myself with some running metaphors that were tricky to integrate... yeah.

…has your favorite lines/exchange/paragraph? (share it!)

Marked, Chapter 20. The entire conversation with Sam, but especially this: 

“There are good days and there are days when… when it feels like it’s crushing you. And that doesn’t mean you’ve failed, or that you’re not strong enough, or whatever else, because even if you’re doing everything right, the bad days are going to happen. What matters is that you’re trying. Every day you get up and take one little step, in spite of everything you’re carrying, that’s a victory. It’s not about getting somewhere. It’s the step that matters.”

Also, I think a few of the exchanges in Sharp Edges are some of my best work, particularly the negotiation conversation and the last few paragraphs. Such as:

“You good?” he asks, falling back on what seems to be his mantra for the evening.

“I’m… no, not really, hang on,” Spencer mumbles, and Sam flinches, moving away instinctively.

“Shit, sorry, what -”

“No, wait, that’s not - just… can you reach the tissues, or do I actually have to stand up right now?” Spencer asks, with a disgruntled sort of glare at the box of Kleenex on the end table.

Sam laughs, awkward and self-conscious. Spencer blinks owlishly up at him, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Then a smile spreads over his face slowly and he’s laughing too as Sam leans and stretches over to grab the box.

“The male orgasm is really inconvenient sometimes,” Spencer mutters.

Sam lets out another snort of laughter, looking away to give him some privacy as he cleans up. He’s not sure what the etiquette of this whole situation is; it’s such a strange thing, oddly intimate, and even though Sam’s still fully-dressed, he feels exposed in a way he’s not used to.

“Now I’m good,” Spencer says quietly. He’s got his knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, but he tilts his head back against the wall and aims a hazy, heavy-lidded stare at Sam. His lips part and curl up in a barely-there smile, and his tongue flicks out over the pink curve of his lower lip.

Those edges that Sam first noticed are harder to see, now; he’s all soft eyes and softer mouth, flushed skin, messy hair… all except the line of his jaw. That’s still wickedly, unmistakably sharp.

Spencer should come with a warning sign: handle with care. Sam’s not sure who that sign would be protecting. It could be handle with care: fragile, or, just as easily, handle with care: sharp edges.

Either way, there’s a good chance of someone getting hurt here.

“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks.

Spencer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly with surprise, and his pupils are huge and dark, liquid-looking, hypnotic. He blinks, slowly, and suddenly looks about ten years younger. He’d been so self-assured ordering Sam not to draw blood; that confidence is gone, now, like he’s had less experience with kissing than with telling people how to hit him.

Oh, Sam thinks, and tries not to let his own surprise show on his face.

Also also, Origin Stories has some of my favorite conversations/overall themes, but they’re long passages and I’m not gonna paste them here! 

…have you reread the most?

Uh not gonna lie I’ve re-read Everything a lot. Because... unf. That’s my go-to fantasy. 

…would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time?

Most of my favorites are already cited here! But if you wanted a short, concise kinda one-shot sampler plate, I’d start with:

Let’s Get Married - happy, poetic.

Told You So - sexual tension and snark.

Heart of Gold - feels.

Prey - hot but also weird and unsettling.

…are you most proud of?

Marked. I’ve talked about this fic so much, I don’t think it needs to be reiterated, but Marked means so so much to me.

Tagging: @cockslut-padalecki @deanwanddamons @butiaintgonnaloveem @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mrswhozeewhatsis @dontshootmespence and whoever else wants to! 

[shinneth]

SUF as a whole just left me with an empty feeling.

I feel you there, anon. In Dreams aside, I could take or leave the rest of this series (and in most cases, leaning well towards the latter sentiment). 

But I guess that’s to be expected when 90% of SUF focused squarely on Steven’s PTSD and need for therapy and the many, many red flags shown as early on as the beginning that signaled his eventual breakdown to where he ended up in the climax.

Especially with the fanbase itself constantly screeching that Steven needs therapy, Steven has PTSD, Steven’s gonna corrupt, et cetera… like, it was all laid on far too thick. So when we got to Growing Pains, it really didn’t move me like it did so many others because it came off as such a “No shit, Sherlock” moment for me when Priyanka finally addressed the underlying issues the show itself really didn’t even bother trying to be subtle about.

Don’t get me wrong; a lot of people who have suffered (or are presently suffering) from the same problems as Steven irl have been helped a lot by these kinds of episodes, and I do appreciate that.

But from my personal standpoint, yeah… I knew from the start that Steven’s underlying issues alone were not gonna be enough to sustain a full series, and sure enough, it wasn’t. We got to see some bits here and there with the other characters, but we also had a few choice characters be really shitty people in season 5 that never got properly addressed before it concluded, and with the timeskip in SUF, all of that just got handwaved off as “dealt with offscreen”, which is the laziest BS ever. 

And worst of all, at the end, they really didn’t stick the landing well at all. I’ll at least say SUF’s resolution wasn’t the mega levels of offensively terrible as Change Your Mind - but then again, it’s hard to out-do giving totalitarian space dictators with countless lives lost under their watch a fucking FACE-TURN out of nowhere. 

Like, really, the Diamonds’ presence (White especially) in SUF actively made my viewing experience even worse towards the end. Yes, I should be glad they’re establishing that the Diamonds are at least starting to use their powers for good and rebuild some of the lives they ruined.

But, y’know… doesn’t change the fact that they’re all responsible for multiple counts of global genocide. Like, any living creatures native to their colony planets? They’re still fucking gone. And the Diamonds themselves just come off VERY unnatural as “nice” guys - and in many cases, they’re even creepier now than they were as villains. Good god, White’s blubbering in the climax was fucking insufferable, though. 

Partially I think this comes from SU being a “kids show” so there’s this pressing need to end things as cleanly as possible. I’m more miffed that in the end, Steven still got pretty much everything he wanted.

They had some admittedly good set-ups to Steven’s growth, like having him accept that people grow up, change, and move on with their lives. We see the clear evidence that Steven’s got an unhealthy clinginess towards his human friends - and Connie’s no exception. 

And considering they took the time to establish that:

Connie has friends other than Steven. She gets along with them just fine, so it’s not like she’s totally lonely or isolated without him.

Connie is ambitious with many goals and aspirations when it comes to her education and potential career paths. She’s shown to have put a lot of thought into her options and at no point comes off as feeling pressured by her parents or friends into this.

Connie knows she has to work hard and often to achieve her dreams, and despite that rigid lifestyle, it doesn’t seem to bother her in the least. That would imply she really wants to reach these goals she set for herself, whether or not Steven’s in the picture at all.

Connie and Steven’s dynamic is a far cry from how it was when they started out in the original series. You can tell Steven has no clue what Connie’s talking about when it comes to her goals and just plays along, pretending he understands anything coming out of her mouth.

Connie, despite what her speech would lead you to believe, has been every bit as insufferably dense as the gems in SUF when it comes to Steven’s issues. In Bismuth Casual, Steven’s very specifically-worded concerns were misconstrued as a fear of skating (or his inability to, whatever) - and in the end, they just became Stevonnie rather than properly talked things through. You know, something PERIDOT 100% did in the prior episode.

Connie is very firm about wanting to live her life as herself. She’s not against being Stevonnie from time to time, but like hell does she want to be Stevonnie for the long term. 

Connie knows marrying in general at her age is a stupid-stupid-stupid idea, even if it is Steven. And considering her well-established commitment to her studies and reaching her lofty goals, Connie - at least at the time - seemed to know a relationship with anyone just wasn’t in the cards for her at this point in her life. There’s no need to rush that shit, and she won’t compromise her life just to give her needy friend this thing he wants that he doesn’t even fully understand truly is. 

Or, you know… just have Connie backpedal hard on a good chunk of that and date Steven so that he won’t become a monster again. I’m mostly kidding with that - but by kissing his monstrous self and that triggering his restoration, then soon later we see that even though Steven and Connie can only have a long-distance relationship at best, she’s dating him right now anyway even though this needlessly makes her life way more complicated than it needed to be - like seriously, how can I not take that as Canon Connverse being founded on the condition of “Okay, if it’ll keep you from losing your shit, going pink, and turning into a monster, I’ll date you”?!

And in the end it yet again gives Steven more-or-less exactly what he wants, even if it isn’t something he really needs. 

I’m glad Rebecca clarified that Steven would still visit Beach City often, because I had a very hard time buying him just traveling by himself on the road. And maybe it would have worked better if he was just doing it short-term to “find himself” or something along those lines, but nope! They’re basically saying this is what Steven wants to do.

And honestly, even that is dampened with his clearly-stated intention of visiting Connie way more than he intends to visit the gems. Even though Connie’s gonna be busy. With college.

This just… wasn’t a good ending. It had plenty of good moments - his goodbye to Bismuth, Lapis, and Peridot especially was very well-executed and the closest this finale came to drawing out any real emotion out of me. I loved the scene of Steven giving Greg his room; that was adorable. The last meeting with Tsundere Jasper was amusing.

But everything else… ehhh.

I mean, what can we really take from this season that I haven’t already outlined? The biggest takeaways were the plot points everyone saw coming a mile away that weren’t even executed all that well. 

In Dreams, as great at is was, might as well have not even happened - because what really carried over from that episode through to the end? Even though Peridot was the only one who got through to Steven, legitimately comforted him and addressed his fears, and the episode for once ended with Steven being happy with no underlying concerns about his problems - immediately he’s back to being awkward and depressed and frustrated by Bismuth Casual.

And I get that shit like trauma shouldn’t be resolved so easily, but for what In Dreams accomplished, I expected there to at least be a semblance of progress. Steven’s known since that episode he can hang out with Peridot and talk to her about whatever without needing a reason to do it, but he never ever takes her up on that again. 

So again, what was the point? 

You really get the impression that the quality of writing took a backseat just to emphasize the symbolism of an issue people commonly have, but SUF’s execution stretched my suspension of disbelief far beyond its limits. 

And nothing stretched that farther than Connie’s insufferable fucking speech in I Am My Monster; that pretty much completely made In Dreams feel like it never really happened in SUF’s continuity. 

In some ways, I just prefer to believe In Dreams was just a dream itself. An AU offshoot in SUF itself. Considering it’s so ridiculously good compared to the other nineteen episodes and by far the most pure and wholesome, maybe that’s the best way to see it. 

In Dreams was too good for its own series. That’s literally the only thing I personally took from SUF as a whole (at least in terms of lasting impact). 

So yeah, I guess for only one episode of twenty to really hit me in the feels, “empty” is an apt way to describe the series, anon. 

Seriously, if I didn’t have my own massive SU-AU to mess around in and do things properly, this probably would have upset me more. 

Instead, I just chuckle at Rebecca’s Monster Steven and raise her to what I’m putting my version of Steven through in my current story. Where I’m pulling all the stops to make other characters matter even though the stars are undoubtedly Peridot and Steven. 

And I’m actually making actions yield serious, lasting consequences.

(yeah, part of me wishes Jasper wasn’t revived - or alternatively, have Steven accidentally shatter White Diamond instead of Jasper since he came awfully close in canon

or even better, shatter Jasper and revive her, then accidentally shatter White and not be able to revive her since Steven used up ALL that diamond essence on Jasper…

yeah I’m kind of a monster)

Your pain is mutually felt, anon. So I’ll prescribe you endless refills of better-written and better-executed SU fanon to heal the emptiness SUF left inside you.

#answered asks #nice anons #steven universe future #suf finale #steven universe

[twiceminded-archived]

(Awhile back I wrote a cognitive assessment for Alfend, but today I’ve decided to expand on it! So here goes!)

(Long-ass fuckin post under the cut, lots of negative psychological stuff, and child abuse mentions.)

Amnesia - Certain memories have been surpressed by conditioning. Only Fendi suffers this, and his memories of his stay in the hospital are especially shaky because of it.

Anxiety - A given, considering what he’s been through. Many things make Alfendi nervous, due to events that have happened in their life. Al typically responds with agitation, while Fendi simply compartmentalizes the feeling and sets it aside.

C-PTSD - One would expect PTSD only due to a singular event, but Alfendi’s very early life involved emotional and verbal abuse. Due to these repeated reactions towards his behaviour, Alfendi now has a myriad of problems that persist later on in life. Al inherited the majority of those behavioural issues. Some of these will be expanded on further down the post.

Cynicism - Not exactly something either of them can help, but it’s hard to keep faith in humanity and in people when you constantly see the worst of them... and when the system fails you, where else do you turn?

Defensiveness - Absolutely. Press either of them on something they’re sensitive about, and they get defensive. Al angrily goes on the attack or stands his ground, but even Fendi can lose his temper and go off if he’s cornered, if he doesn’t just lapse into silence first.

Denial - Yep! Deny, deny, deny. They’re getting a little better about it, but there’s been no real significant progress in making either half admit truth in the face of pressure.

Depersonalization - Comes with the dissociation! And with the personality death. If this body belonged to someone before you, is it really yours? How real are you if you’re just a construct, or a fragment? Too many of these questions, and they start to lose touch with the physical world and perceive things as happening to just the ‘body’, not ‘them’.

Depression - Yeah, there’s not much to elaborate on with this. The depression is real.

Displacement - Is it really a surprise that Al has this? He can’t be aggressive towards the general public, his family, his friends, or his co-workers, so the next best thing are troublemakers who do something to deserve his ire. Who’s going to care if he dumps all of that simmering rage onto someone he’s sure is a murderer? (Well...)

Dissociation - Yes. I mean, it’s very much one of the most obvious things about them. The two of them dissociate semi-regularly, detaching from their surroundings to calm down -- and also ‘switch’ to suit the situation, as people with dissociative identity disorder often do. The blueprints for this were laid by Alfendi’s terrible childhood, before Hershel took him in.

Dysphoria - Is it really his body? Fendi isn’t sure. Al’s more certain, yet at times Fendi feels like he doesn’t belong in it. But he’s there to stay, and he has to look after this body and the alter in it anyway. At times, however, he just doesn’t feel right...

Emotional detachment - Not exactly a bad thing. Fendi makes use of his while in the workplace, where keeping a cool head is pretty important when you’re trying to get the truth out of someone. However, he takes it out of work and... stifles his emotions because he’s been led to believe that too much is too dangerous. And given the horrible feelings he has after losing his temper, maybe he can’t help it.

Flashbacks - Al has these, since Al carries the majority of childhood memories. While Fendi may freeze up when yelled at, Al will freeze up and recall being back in his first house. These flashbacks often throw him into a defensive mode due to their distressing nature and ability to evoke powerful emotions. Don’t scream at them, they hate it.

Flat affect - 100% Fendi. Another word for this is called ‘emotional blunting’ and if that isn’t Fendi I dunno what is. Typically this turns into straight-up apathy, but sometimes the flat affect is done to hide whatever emotion has just struck him.

Guilt - Fendi locked a sentient part of himself away for four years. When he realized the true reason why he had done this, he was struck with guilt that has never really gone away. But he hates guilt, so he refuses to even acknowledge it.

Hallucinations - Part of that psychosis! Fendi hallucinates voices and occasional movement out of the corners of his vision. The voices are almost always persecutory in nature, and the phrases they pick might come from the things he represses. The words don’t always make sense, however.

Hypervigilance - To a point where it can become exhaustion for them. Not always a problem but when it is, it’s usually because one of their traumas have been triggered or a phobia has been recognized. When combined with paranoia (hypervigilance isn’t the same thing), they become an absolute wreck.

Intellectualization - Done all the time by Fendi. ‘Thinking to avoid feeling’ is one of the cornerstones of his personality. Engaging emotion logically helps take the edge off of it, and makes it easier to fold up and put away.

Isolation - They’re getting better at this, but paranoia threatens to sabotage their hard work. Isolation is safer, isn’t it? But God is it lonely, and they’re sick of being lonely. As Alfendi makes more friends, he’s relying on this less and less.

Panic attacks - Perhaps ‘inevitable’ isn’t the right word; maybe ‘expected’ is. They can work themselves up into a fear-induced frenzy that then results in a panic attack. Unfortunately, agoraphobia (one of Alfendi’s most pronounced phobias) contributes heavily to panic attacks, so this man just cannot catch a break... Thankfully, they’re quite verbal about panicking and know how to deal with it at this point.

Passive-aggression - Fendi’s societal weapon of choice. Al is typically aggressive and only that, but Fendi much prefers to simply ‘accept’ before quietly undermining the person who has raised his ire. Some of his snark is quite passive-aggressive and indirect.

Paranoia - This is the big one. This paranoia is the source of so many of his problems. It has thoroughly invaded his life and so profoundly affected his behaviour that if somehow his paranoia were to be cured, he would undergo quite a personality change. (It, however, cannot be ‘cured’.) Though Alfendi is right to be on edge due to his job, mild celebrity status, prior incidents, and those who oppose him, he takes things a bit too far. He HAS to be safe, HAS to be as unreachable as possible, and his tragic dream is that one day nobody will be able to hurt him ever again. What has happened to Alfendi has thoroughly broken his ability to trust, and no matter how much work is put into helping him take down his paranoid tendencies, it only takes one betrayal (perceived or otherwise) to make him shut down...

Phobias - Yes! The most pronounced one is agoraphobia. Though most people assume it’s a fear of open spaces, that’s just a literal translation. Fendi fears that if he’s put in danger again, he won’t be able to escape -- thus, being inside will keep him safer. Obviously both of them are terribly phobic of anything that can extensively alter the mind, and despise the thought of losing control. The mere suggestion of having someone else in command of them is enough to terrify them both. There’s more! See if you can find them all!

Projection - Occasionally an issue for Al, he’ll misplace his aggression or own vaguely murderous tendencies in someone else. Not like the murderers can exactly argue...

Psychosis - Actually, they both have this! Psychosis comes along with paranoia for the ride. Being able to tell real threats from threats spun out of imagination is not a skill they have anymore -- hence, the paranoid tendencies.

PTSD - Getting shot in the fucking chest and almost dying is pretty goddamn traumatizing. So is being manipulated and taken adantage of to be used as a scapegoat, but it’s a tossup if that can be classified as a PTSD event or C-PTSD event.

Rationalization - You ever see all of those excuses Fendi makes for keeping Al down? That’s literally this. He’s rationalizing it.

Repression - Gestures at Fendi again. This is different from suppression in that feelings are being pushed into the unconscious to never be dealt with!

Self-harm - Oops! This is never done to a life-threatening extent, but Alfendi tends to scratch at his arms when he’s losing his grip on his own thought processes or is overwhelmed. Sometimes he draws blood, sometimes he just gets his skin under his fingernails and that’s all...

Somatization - The amount of stress Alfendi has occasionally manifests into pain with no definitive origin.

Splitting - While Fendi can see shades of gray in people, occasionally Al will split on someone, seeing them as all good or all bad. This is not especially healthy and has led to several friendship collapses in the past. The splitting mechanism was inherited from the original Alfendi.

Sublimation - While Al does project his aggressive emotions onto people from time to time, he’ll also transform his urges and dedicate his aggression to other things, such as his knife-throwing hobby and cooking. 

Suicidal ideation - Fendi once had this problem. It was fixed. Now he does not want to go away, ever.

Suppression - Sometimes it’s better to just stop thinking about certain things, you know? This can be perfectly healthy, just... there’s a point where you have to stop! While Al does have a better idea of where to stop suppressing, Fendi has decided the line is way the fuck elsewhere and suppresses much more often.

Thousand-yard stare - Ever seen Al in the middle of a flashback episode? He isn’t looking at you. He isn’t looking at anything. All he can see is what he went through, and he’s not here right now. Alternatively, when either of them are having a period of extreme dissociation, you’ll see it -- that dead gaze, that soulless expression...

Triggers - Plenty of them! Screaming is one of them. Don’t scream. Thunder and gunshots, too, put them off significantly and throw them into the beginnings of a shutdown or the start of a panic. There are others...

Trust issues - OH I WONDER WHY

Violence - Al is occasionally consumed with the thought of it, and itches for the times he can commit it in the name of self-defense which is kind of terrifying! He thrives off the threats he can make and the reputation it gives him. Is it any wonder Fendi worries about the choices he might make?

Whiplash temper - Alfendi was on the receiving end of this as a child, and unfortunately there is a legacy of abuse. He used to be doing better about his temper, until his personality shattered and Al not only reverted but became slightly worse than his predecessor in that regard.

#[ headcanon ] something emergent. #(holy fuck this is huge) #(i don't know how long i spent time on this but it sure did take awhile!) #(i do feel like i've done a pretty good job on touching on most of these and explaining how or why they affect alfendi) #(if you have further questions go ahead and ask!) #(unless you're going to ask if i have any of these cognitive issues. that is absolutely none of your business.) #child abuse mention #self harm mention #suicide mention

[rkkyg]

mnet global audition season 5 ( the callback ) 

contestant ;  kim yugyeom ( dancer )  performance ; solita - prettymuch ( original choreo ) [ 0:00 - 1:19 ] 

waiting for any news as to what was going on for the mgas had been a little stress inducing. he wanted to make it, wanted this chance to really get his name out there again. he’s done things already, there was that thing for the kt game back a few months ago. and then he recently had an audition with sphere ( which ended with nothing happening sadly ) so he knows that he’s at least on some radar. 

but what radar is it? 

who’s attention has he caught? or is he still not quiet high enough on the scale to really be noticed. the rader he fell on still being a small one that doesn’t do much for him. he’s not quiet like some of his friends who have been in things where they’re bound to be noticed sooner. he’s not some handsome model, or ex trainee like hyunggu, or even someone who’s been to a lot of auditions and shows.

that means he’s going to have to work harder. 

and he’s fine with that. fine with the idea of needing to work harder if he ever wants to achieve his goals. accepting of the fact that the road ahead, the road he has chosen to be on, is going to be tough. and that it might take a while for him to really get his foot into the door way but that doesn’t mean he was going to give up, not in a long shot. 

yet still, it was hard waiting for any news especially since he was also waiting on the news for hyunggu and news for suwoong. and his other friends. he wanted them to make it in it so them to be on the show together. especially hyunggu. 

just thinking about being on this with his best friend was all kinds of exciting.

he’s always thought about it before. ever since him and hyunggu has become friends, ever since the two of them formed dynamite, and ever since he begun getting to perform with hyunggu near every weekend when they busk. hes thought about it. 

i really want to perform on stage with this guy.

there’s no one he likes performing with more than his best friend. 

an then he received the news. the callback for the first episode, he’d gotten the call back and so had his friends. so had hyunggu. but apparently this didn’t guarantee that he would be on the show. one more audition to try and get onto the show, to make it before the eyes of the judges. now he’s gotten the chance and he wasn’t going to let it go to waist. 

all his free time between getting the callback and the actual day of recording was spent practicing. this time around he wasn’t asking hyunggu for help in making the dance. see, normally he turns to the younger for assistance mainly due to the fact that while yugyeom is a good dancer--hyunggu is a better choreographer. that said, yugyeom is able to choreograph when he wants or needs to and thats exactly what he does. his song of choice was actually one he had been wanting to do a dance to for a while. 

getting going on making a new dance was often hard for him, but after a few hours of mainly fucking around, he ended up with a solid foundation. by the time it was the day of the callback audition he felt confident and comfortable in what he was going to show off on stage. 

the day of he arrives early as he does for most things. yugyeom tending to be rather good at being on time despite how he may seem. he’s planning to meet up with his best friend and the two of them were going to sit together. having heard they could pick seats. so they were going to the right side to meet up and thats what yugyeom did. 

he went to the right side.

wait. 

he’s standing on the side he thinks is right, and happens to spot across the stage a familiar of his best friend. his head spins around and he’s gazing at every one around him a little confused. before--with no hesitation--he turns and books it across to the other side. recognizing that he had gone to the left and not the right. 

“dont say a word.” he mutters as he drops into the chair next to hyunggu. already sensing the judgement and amusement from his friend. and while others are still getting seated he takes the time to look around to see whos near by and if he knows anyone. he spots su--of course, since the other had also run across stage with him--sitting beside him and slaps the others thigh as he spins around to look behind. there’s a lot of faces he doesn’t know, but there’s also a lot he does know. 

he spots joohyun, his old coworker. spots some faces he knows from having watched the last season of mga including the guy behind him. fuck he remembers this guy. 

“ah... kang daniel, long time no see.” he greets almost tensely, as if trying to make it seem as if their one and only meeting hadn’t been an utter disaster. not wanting to cause a scene or issue, he faces front again and his hand finding it’s way to hyunggus knee as he leans in to talk quiet to the other about thoughts on the audition--dance related questions that he always turns to the younger for. as said before, he knows he’s a good dancer--confident in his skills--but hyunggu has more experience. has more technical knowledge. 

soon enough everyone is seated and the show begins. 

it’s interesting actually getting to see all these different performances and seeing the skill sets and talents that the other contestants have. yugyeom watches intently, especially with the dancers, to pick out weakness in anyone. his gaze sharp, and rarely actually looks away from the stage even when leaning in to say something to one of his friends around him. making comments on performances, or the people performing. 

he’s especially critical of the dancers, though most of his comments on been on the constructive criticism side of things. not wanting to seem mean. and also not wanting to be discouraging because it takes guts to step up onto that stage and perform before so many people. 

some of his comments on merely on appearance though... 

“oh... he’s hot--a dancer? damn.” 

“wooow look how pretty her hair is, so shiny. it looks really healthy.”

“that guys legs could kill me and i’d thank him.” 

those comments were mostly saved for his best friend though, leaning over for the younger to hear him and typically grinning after.

then hyunggu gets called, and yugyeoms attention is even more focused on the stage. he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees and fingers laced together as he watches in an almost nervous way as hyunggu makes his way to the stage. his knee bouncing a bit. 

of course he had no reason to be worried. hyunggu performs like he’s meant to be on the stage, dancing and moving around as if he really belongs there and yugyeom finds himself relaxing with each move. his expression turning to one of pure pride and admiration for the younger. and as hyunggu comes over to their side, he’s jumping up with everyone to cheer along. showing his unwavering support for his best friend. 

hyunggu comes back up and then it’s only a few more names before yugyeoms gets called by katie lee. the katie lee. he’s always been interested in kt, having admired lc9 for a long time. and the ceo of said company just said his name. his face morphing into a look of shocked awe, before he realizes he needs to get up and perform. 

“hello i’m kim yugyeom.” he introduces, bowing once he’s on stage and then getting ready to get going on his dance. his fingers tapping at his thigh as the nerves come back, wanting to do good but second guessing himself on the dance.  wondering if he should have chose something else, practiced something else. maybe just have done a cover instead of working on a whole new choreography days before this audition. he thinks, he could have done anything else. 

he swallows. 

focus, yugyeom. 

the music starts.

his nerves wash away. 

he thinks of this as if he were busking--back when he had first started busking and it was important to be good at dancing to draw people. back when he was so desperate for the money given to him from tips that he worked his ass off to really kill the dances he would do. when he was trying to do fan service while also perfecting whatever dance he was covering. 

he thinks of it as how he dances with dynamite. how comfortable and at ease he feels when with the two members of his group, how much fun he has dancing with them. he thinks about how much fun it could be to end up in a company with hyunggu. to be able to keep dancing with his best friend and maybe make it on stage together one day. 

he thinks ah yes, thats the dream. that’s the vision. to be on stage with his best friend. to perform with kang hyunggu. and he feels himself relax. 

the music flows through him as he begins the dance. hours and hours of sweat and frustration to get to this point where he moves through the motions of the dance as if he were born for it. his body so at ease now as he does each move and each step, mouthing along with the words as he goes. he’s in his zone. this is what he wants to be doing. he wants to perform. and doing well here and now is a good first step to getting to perform more. to getting himself onto those big stages.

a plus side of being a busker means his facial expressions are something he’s worked on. he knows some dancers--mainly ones who has only ever dances in studios--forgot to think about their expressions. forget that dancing also needs to expression emotions and if his expression doesn’t match that emotion he could ruin the whole thing. 

he recalls watching hyunggu during practices. when he younger would be showing off a new dance or something but yugyeom was focused on his face and from there he found himself working on his own expressions. working to match the same energy and feeling output that hyunggu has when he dances. wanting to be able to captivate someone with not only his movements but also his feeling. 

he knows that comes from the feeling he tries to portray when he dances. and that expression is important for that. 

he’s very glad his song of choice was an upbeat one. it’s easy enough to keep himself looking hyped. especially when every time he looks to the right of the stage all his stupid friends sitting there get loud as fuck. it makes him grin, and he throws a heart that way at one point, then even gets bold and while looking at hyunggu he throws a kiss. it’s fun. 

this is so much fun, is all he can think as he goes through the dance. feeling the music, feeling the movements. this is so much fun. 

and when the song ends, he’s not ready to be done. 

he breathes in a few times deeply to calm himself--not quiet winded despite the fact he really did put his all in the dance but luckily he’s got stamina going for him--and all he can think he that he’s not ready to be done. 

even as he bows and thanks the judges. 

even as he walks back to his seat, getting high fives and comments from his friends. even as he settles next to hyunggu again and turns with an expectant look to his best friend. 

even then there’s a burn inside. a fire--like a hunger that’s burning inside of him with desire. 

the desire to be on the stage. 

#rkmga5 #rkmga5callback #txt; solo #rkkyg #rksuwoong #danielxrk #wc;2031 #wow

[arcticficialbanana]

Werewolf Christmas

Pairing: Seth Clearwater x Hybrid Reader (Klaus Mikaelson style) One-Shot

Word Count: 14,401

Warnings: Swearing, implied nudity, loss of memory, mentions of blood, emotional resistance, explicit smut at the end of the story.

Reader Request: “I was wondering if you'd consider writing a Twilight based fic; specifically, Seth Clearwater x reader? One where they're imprints and the reader is a hybrid (half wolf, half vamp) all Christmas fluff (my absolute fucking favourite holiday of the year ohmygoodness) maybe even some smut Also -not sure if you watch the vampire diaries or the originals - but I was hoping the reader could be that kind of hybrid? Lore-wise (if that's ok!)”

A/N: You’ve got it @draiela! Just in time for post-holiday blues, there is a tiny bit of Christmas fluff in here. There is SO much going on in this story though with the whole crossover universe. I got super sucked into it once I started, so it took me over a month to write. This story helped me learn my weakness is writing one-shots. Every time I thought of ending it I popped up with more ideas for the story.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Start with these, just pack them up in the boxes-do you know how to package the boxes?” A thin woman in a pale blue blouse glances up at the tall, gangly man with Russet colored skin.

 He nods and lifts his hands as though he is about to demonstrate, but the woman continues, “Alright, so just pack it up and stack them by the door for return, then you’ll be done for the day.”  She crosses her arms and leans back to look up at the young man, “Got it?”

“Boxes here, leave nothing but the tables.” He gives a tedious thumbs up, but receives no smile from the woman. She points to the back corner of the room, “It’ll be easier if you start there. I’ll be at the front desk, but I hope you don’t have any questions for me because I’m not in charge around here.” She waits for his nod and walks back into the hall.

Standing alone in the room he rolls up his shirt sleeves and brushes his fingers through his thick dark hair, “Okay Seth, you’ve got this.”

 You pull down the hem of your skirt, straightening out the wrinkles around your thighs. Such a long meeting and not once did your boyfriend even glance at you. As the manager of this branch he was in charge of leading the meeting, but he didn’t even give you specific directions for the event.  You frown and play with the button on your collar nervously, wondering if he is angry with you for something. “Sure, just lump me in with all of the temps.” you grumble to yourself, annoyed that he gave instructions to all of the long-term employees but didn’t name you for anything note-worthy.  “What am I, chopped meat?” You sigh and notice a woman giving you the stink-eye from a few seats down. You bite your lip and grab your coffee to escape the room.

 The air stings your eyes and you rush to the bathroom before anyone catches your embarrassing breakdown. As you hurry down the hall you hear a clatter from a room just up ahead.  It catches you by surprise, making you peek through the door and look around the stacked boxes and bare tables. Is there a cat or something in here? you wonder and see something shine against the wall.  You jump and startle yourself, but it was only your reflection in the mirror. You calm down for a moment, but then a dark figure emerges from behind a line of boxes and before you can scream you flash out of there and run into the bathroom.  You don’t even realize if you were scared of the towering shadow or just crying in front of strangers, but you decide to ignore the question by splashing your face with cold water.  A trickle streams down the side of your neck and leaves an unpleasant wet mark on your blouse. You shake your hands in front of yourself, trying to remain calm.  You close the lid of the toilet and sit down to give yourself a few minutes. Am I imagining things? you rehash the last few months, cycling through memories of romantic gestures and not-so-romantic ones. That’s just the way he is, right? He’s always been focused on business and building his future. You nod to yourself, agreeably, but then you stop when you feel a pressure behind your eyes again. Right. His future. You try to think of a time he’d ever made plans farther than two weeks out that included you.

 Just then the door knob rattled and you hopped off the seat with a start, “Just a minute!” you shout to the other side and flush the toilet to conclude your wallowing session.

 Seth stares at his sister with contemplation. He barely notices his head is slipping slowly off his hand, until he slides off and punches himself in the forehead.

 “Whatever it is, can you go talk about it before our next pack meeting? I don’t want your thoughts shouting at everyone when we’re trying to focus.” Leah says with disregard.  Seth squirms uncomfortably in his seat, unsure if he should bring the subject up with Leah. Watching her put dishes away with the grace of a wild boar he decides not only would it be insensitive, but she doesn’t have the bedside manner to make him feel better anyway.

 “I’m going to Jacob’s.” Seth jumps off the stool and doesn’t bother to grab his coat, even though the snow outside has been coming down regularly for the last two days.

 Leah doesn’t bother responding, but waves her hand lazily over her shoulder as Seth pats her back and walks out.

 Steam evaporates off Seth’s skin as snowflakes touch him, temporarily cooling his body. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to talk to Jacob or Sam about this, since Sam might be able to give him more guidance.  He looks back at the small house, unsure if Leah will be mad that he chose to talk to the man that broke her heart over his own sister.

 “It’s nothing personal, Leah.” he whispers as the faint glow disappears from his view.

 A short while later he walks through a frail screen door, shaking water off his body, “Hey Emily,” Seth says as a woman with a warm smile looks up at him from a weaving loom.  “Sam is just getting out of the shower.” Emily automatically responds as she weaves a shuttle through the weft threads.  “Can’t I come to visit with you?” Seth throws his hands to his chest in mock heartbreak and falls on his knees a few feet away from Emily.  “You’re sweet.” Emily smiles and shakes her head with an internal giggle, just as Sam appears through the doorway.

 “Seth. What’s going on?” Sam puts his hands on his hips, eyeing Seth and Emily without humor.

 Seth stands up respectfully and looks at Sam with pain in his eyes, “Could I talk to you...privately?”

 Sam quickly glances at Emily before nodding back at Seth, “Come with me.” he says and stretches his arms overhead as he walks through a back door.

 “Go on, what’s on your mind.” Sam motions for Seth to take a seat on a log standing upright.

 Sam yawns as he watches Seth kick the snow off the log with his foot. Seth takes a seat, leans his elbows down to his knees and rests his head atop his fists.  “I imprinted on someone today.” Seth says, after Sam sits across from him,  awaiting Seth’s confession.  “Seth!” Sam says heartily, reaching over to pat his large palm on Seth’s shoulder, “That’s fantastic!” he smiles broadly, like a proud father.  Seth looks to the ground in disappointment and Sam furrows his brow in confusion, “Well, who is it?” he asks excitedly.

“I don’t know.” Seth says in grief.

 “You...don’t know?” Sam shakes his head controversially, “You have to know. That’s not possible.” Sam says, well aware that in order to imprint you must see a person face to face.

 “I um..” Seth starts, scratching the back of his neck where a leaf fell and tickled him, “You know how I took a job off the reservation so that I can buy resources to build a house?”  Sam nods his head, well aware of the difficulties of sharing a home with Leah Clearwater. Especially in the recent years, he thinks to himself with a tinge of guilt.  “I was working when I saw her reflection in a mirror. When I turned around I felt everything stop. She looked at me and my body ached for her to come closer. Everything turned black around me and I could only hear the sound of her breathing.” Seth placed his face in his hands, recounting it as though it were a tragedy.  “It certainly sounds like you’ve imprinted. So what is the problem?” Sam asks uncertainly, questioning Seth’s depressing demeanor.

 “She ran away.” Seth whimpered into his hands.

 “She was so fast. I tried to come after her, but by the time I reached the hall she was gone.” Seth felt the burning pain on his skin from her absence.

 Sam’s face dropped, feeling a shade of understanding for Seth’s poor situation. Seth continued on in despair, “I don’t know her name, I couldn’t tell her what she means to me, I don’t know where to find her...”  “She probably works there.” Sam reminds him, making Seth feel like an idiot. He was shocked that he hadn’t realized it earlier- of course she worked there, of course he could find her again!  “Your mind is clouded. Don’t bring yourself down.” Sam reassures, perfectly coming to the conclusion that Seth hadn’t thought of it before because he was in so much pain from feeling her loss.

 “You said...” Seth’s joy fades away as his muscles pulse once again with a stabbing ache, “When you were with Leah, and you imprinted on Emily...”

 “That every step away from her made my body sore with misery.” Sam took a deep breath, feeling a very light discomfort being outside of the house while Emily sat across the walls.

 “How do I ...what do I do?” Seth begs of Sam’s experience, hoping for a fleck of inspirational answers.

 “Until you find her? Learn to breath through the pain. That strain on your body won’t go away, even after you have her by your side. If we go on a pack hunt you will still feel the pull to her -they become the only sense of pleasure in life you will feel. You will feel a draw to the pack, but it is only a sense of duty, not joy.” Sam reflects.

 “Live with this?” Seth whispers to himself desperately, only able to compare the feeling to a vampire attack he once felt.

 “It will ease when she accepts you as her mate.” Sam encourages, but to Seth each hour until he can come back to find her will feel like a laceration. Each minute he will feel the absence of breath in his chest.

 You decide that if you aren’t important enough to have a designated task, you will designate one for yourself. You doodle a design of Christmas decorations into your notepad and walk around the building, jotting down notable spots to place lights and miniature trees.

 A group of employees shimmy through the double doors at the front of the building. You spot your boyfriend at the tail end of the group and speed to catch up to him, “Hey honey!”

 As everyone hustles outside you make your way to his side and tug on his sleeve, making him turn his head in your direction, “Oh, hello darling.” He says casually and steps to the side of the doors, “That was you? Please don’t shout at me like that here, Y/N, it’s very unprofessional.”  He slides his hands along the outside of your arms and you look down to hide the little flush of pink to your face, “Oh, right. Big boss man, huh?” You tease and he reaches for your hands.  “Hopefully one day.” He cajoles and gives you a tender squeeze in your palms, “Is there something that you needed?” He asks as he drops your hands to wave at a passing executive.  “I-well no actually.” You give a half smile, trying to come up with something to talk to him about so that you can keep his attention a few minutes longer.

 “Alright, well we’ve got a group lunch,” He starts to walk through the doors and with a sudden question you follow him outside into the windy snow.

 “When are we going to have dinner? You never rescheduled, and I’ve been saving my new dress to show off for you!” You winked and shivered as a snowflake touched your forehead.  “Oh, yes,” He looks up at the sky, squinting into the haze and thinking of something deeply, “I suppose tonight will do, since you’re starting classes again soon?” He closes his eyes for a moment, “I feel like I am forgetting something-”  You cover your arms defensively and feel goosebumps prickle over your skin, “Well actually,” you start but someone passing by remarks, “Come on, the reservation is already pushed back an hour.”

 “Yes, yes, post-haste,” He swivels his head and turns back to you with a warm smile, “Look at you darling, you are freezing. Go back inside, I will call you later.” he tightens up on his coat as he eyes your sweater dress with rolled up sleeves and no outerwear. You hadn’t planned on going outside after all.  You stand in front of him with concern written on your face but he doesn’t notice because he is looking over your shoulder, “Could you please get her inside?” he motions above you and then leans down to give you the briefest peck on the forehead, “Don’t catch a cold.” he whispers as he turns away and walks off.

 Your body was shaking and you weren’t sure how to react, feeling a mixture of emotions from sweetness to angst. Something behind you makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, more so with the cold prickling you all over.  A large jacket weighs heavy on your shoulders as you are enveloped in warmth. You are still as you watch your boyfriend’s back disappear down the street within a crowd.  A furnace is radiating behind you, making all of the snow melt away from your hair, but still you don’t move.

 “Are you in shock?” A voice says above you and you don’t answer right away, but as the flurries screen your boyfriend out of view you finally catch your breath, “No.”

 Arms wrap around you, feeling as though you are engulfed in flames. Either the frost was burning you, or someone with a high fever is hugging you from behind.  You look up and encounter a face, pressed into your hair, and suddenly you feel a sense of anger, “What are you doing?!” you ask without moving.

 “Let’s get you inside.” he says softly, and with what sounds like great care. In a daze, you allow him to guide your shoulders back toward the building and through the doors.  He takes you to an armchair and waits for you to sit down. Something makes you feel as though you should, so you lower yourself into the chair.

 “Who are you?” You ask, not recognizing his boyish face.

 “Seth Clearwater.” He says, and you remember something about a Native American reservation less than 40 minutes from here.

 “Are you from the..um..?” You pinch your forehead, trying to remember the name of the tribe.

 “Quileute tribe.” He smiles, “What gave it away?” He must be saying jokingly, between his darkened features, his high cheekbones, and his name.

 In place of a laugh you aren’t sure what to do so you say, “I’m Y/N.” His eyes widen as you say your name and he looks as though he is staring into a fire - bright, but unable to look away.  “What are you doing here?” You ask after a beat, fighting off an impending blush from his gaze.  “Working.” He smiles a childish smile full of kindness and innocence. But his smile isn’t the only childish look about him.  “Are you old enough to work here?” You ask skeptically and he lets out a deep laugh, one filled with recognition as though he is familiar with this line.  “I think we’re about the same age.” He says and you look him over with suspicion. Either he doesn’t know how old you are, or he has some very youthful genetics.  “I just have boyish good looks.” He winks and you can’t help but laugh as your face burns from finally warming up to the indoor heat.

 You notice something in his lap and hesitate for a moment, “Is that my notebook?” you ask, staring at the yellow lined pad.  “You left it here when you went outside, I thought you might forget it,” He says shyly, holding it tightly in one hand.  “Thanks,” You say hesitantly, thinking that what he says sounds normal, but the way he is acting feels more purposeful.  “Did you do these drawings?” He asks as he holds up the notepad against his chest, and you look at the scribbles with a flush of awkwardness.  “Doodles, more like it...” you say and reach one hand out to take the sketches away.  “Is this here? Are you decorating?” He asks excitedly, subtly moving the notepad away.  “Erm, I was just coming up with ideas. Christmas is kind of my thing, and everybody else here is a little bit busy with other event planning.” You draw a circle with your finger on your knee, distracting yourself from his dark brown eyes constantly searching your face.  “Could I help?” Seth asks, dark eyes filled with bright hope.

 You think about how useful it would be to have another set of hands, avoiding thoughts of your inexplicable allure to Seth.

 “S-sure.” you decide and in reaction he jumps up with a thrill, but before you can even giggle you realize how much he towers over you- boyish face or not,  “That height will come in handy,” You mouth under your breath, glad not to carry around a step ladder for the string lights.

***

 Heat sears your back in a pleasantly soft burn. You shift your body and feel your skin rub against a tender wall of warmth. It feels comfortable and you realize that your body is being perfectly cradled along all of it’s curves. When you lay there you feel peaceful, but with a slight movement you can tell that something is pressed up against your legs, curved around your rear, and nuzzled between your shoulder blades.

 Realization slowly dawns over you and your eyes snap open. Something is pressed all along your skin. You can feel it all over your naked skin! You cling to your chest protectively and lift your head, observing your surroundings.  Unfortunately, it is very dark and you cannot decipher very much other than faint stars glimmering through high clouds overhead. Stars and clouds that were unobstructed by a roof...Okay, so I’m outside. You conclude, feeling a knot in your stomach too tight to look over your shoulder and find what you already fear is behind you.  A gentle moan forces you to turn around, confirming your suspicions. There lay a perfectly stark naked Seth Clearwater. Your eyes roam over his torso before quickly snapping away from his hip bones.  Dammit, for a gangly guy who looks pretty underage when dressed...You realized that he sure did look very adult without any clothes on. Although his frame was slight, his muscles were quite abundant. Although they were on the leaner side, he definitely could lift a fully grown Fir tree like a teacup.  Oh fuck, what are you thinking about right now? You bring a hand to your face, shaking the thoughts out of your head. Get a hold of yourself.

 You try to figure out what got you here; to this place, with this person, without a stitch of clothing on your body. You look down at your chest and scream in horror as you realize your collarbones are brushed from shoulder to shoulder in warm blood.

 “Y/N!” Seth props up from his serene sleep and jumps to your side, “Shh, I’m here, you’re safe.” he coos.

 “What are you talking about?!” You shriek in astonishment, completely bewildered by the entire situation.

  Seth looks deeply into your eyes and his face wrinkles with concern. His arms twitch as though he is about to wrap his arms around you, but he is clearly restraining himself. You flinch nervously in the dragging moments of silence.

 “Y/N.” Seth says your name very carefully, “What do you remember?”

 You narrow your eyes at him and prepare yourself for what might be the worst, “About last night?”

 Seth takes a deep gulp and digs his fingernails into the tops of his thighs, “Okay,” he says and raises a questioning eyebrow, “What do you remember about last night?”

 You look out into the darkness, turning your face away from Seth, and think hard about last night. Nothing in particular comes to mind, good or bad, and you chew your lip uncomfortably.

 “Not much really...” you say in defeat, hoping that he didn’t slip something ungentlemanly in your drink. 

 Seth is silent as he observes your struggle to recall a single detail of the night or day.

 “Wait,” you huddle over yourself in total awareness of your nudity suddenly, “Why are we naked? Where are my clothes? Why are we outside?”

 Seth looks around for something to cover you with, but nothing surrounds you other than rocks, dirt, and snow. With your nose huddled into your thighs you are suddenly very aware that you are cold without Seth’s ridiculous body warmth to keep you toasted. Come to think of it, you notice from your precarious position that the circle around you is free of snow, while a light layer is blanketed all around.

 You shiver and tilt your head up ever so slightly to see if Seth has anything to say. It seems he is fighting an internal battle of his own, from the way he keeps opening and closing his mouth.

 “What ..do you ..remember from the last ..few days?” Seth asks very slowly and with great resistance from himself.

 You scan the ground as though it were a scrapbook of your brain and after shifting your eyes left and right you reconnect with Seth’s gaze, “We were hanging Christmas lights, right? Oh shit, my boyfriend was supposed to call me tonight - where’s my phone?”

 Seth’s eyes widen and his mouth hangs open a little, “Y/N...” he breaths a labored breath, “We left town a few days ago.”

 You blink several times to chew over what Seth just said. Your body gets hotter and you unfurl yourself from your fetal position to lean upwards.

 Your breath becomes heavier and you attempt faster breathing to receive more oxygen to your brain. This only causes you to begin to hyperventilate and Seth puts his hands on your shoulders.

 “I don’t know what to say, but you can’t panic right now.” He says with an urgency and moves his hands to your face.

 Seth’s hands engulf your face as though you were a tiny porcelain doll. He is on fire and you welcome his touch this time.

 “Why not.” you ask inexplicably. You had every reason to panic right now. You had no idea what could possibly explain everything in a way that wouldn’t make you hysteric. To ask why you shouldn’t panic was only a hopeful gesture that perhaps you were missing a piece of the puzzle.

 “You’re going to shift again.” he whispered as though it were something natural to say.

 Your eyes pool with blurry vision and you blink away a tiny puddle forming below your line of sight, “What do you mean?” you whisper back.

 Seth sighs and wipes away a stream of tears from your cheek, “I’m going to do something, and I don’t want you to try to analyze it too much.”

 A deep wrinkle forms in your forehead and are about to tell Seth that you don’t understand what he means but he reiterates, “Just don’t try to figure out what happened. Make sure to keep breathing steadily. No matter what, stay close to me.”

 You realize you’d stopped breathing and after he finished speaking you took in a gasp of cold wintry breath. Without waiting for your acceptance he continues, “I’m going to shift, and I want you to climb on my back. I’ll take us somewhere safe so we can get dressed and talk.”

 Your throat stings from the bitter air but you feel your head automatically nod to Seth. He stands up and you look away with a blush. It looked as though his body was glistening. Was he sweating? How could he sweat in this drastic cold. Why is he so hot? Does he have a fever?

 A few feet away he crouches down and plants one hand into the ground while extending the other outward for balance. His face was serious as he looked up at you, “It’s going to be alright. Trust me.”

 For some reason, you did trust Seth.

 He looked at the floor and your ears started popping as you heard the sound of snapping and possibly bone cracking. You sat up straight, mesmerized by the sight before you. Seth’s slight and long body enlarged and twisted in what could have been an instant. His brown skin became brown fur, and his head was several times the size to which you were accustomed.

 A chill ran through you, and you wanted severely to crawl onto his fur and warm up. 

 Seth’s eyes stared at you from the body of a Wolf.

 He swung his head toward his body and bore into your eyes with his own until you stood up. He leaned down to the ground and chuffed a sound that sounded like a cough or a whine.

 You tilted your head as you walked toward him and reached your hand out as you approached the great Wolf. Your hand ran along his fur, soft and thick. You leaned over to his head and rubbed one of his ears, prompting a deep breath from the Wolf.

 He lifted his head and jerked his muzzle upward at his back. You instinctively understood his intention and climbed up to his back. Just as you had imagined, you burrowed into his fur and like a coat it surrounded you all around your body. You gripped two handfuls of fur tightly and he stood up with one swift motion.

 Suddenly you could feel his body rumbling with breath. You would guess you were running, but your head was buried in him and the fur around you shielded you from any windy air. Your bed was rocking rhythmically, so you supposed that he was in a steady gallop already.

 You could have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the nervous excitement, not to mention his body too hot for comfort at this point. 

 A short while later you felt an incline, guessing that he had taken a seat. You look up above the thicket and see that you are on a ranch in the desert. At least you think you are on a ranch in the desert. There isn’t any snow, and there is a lot of sand and red dirt.

 The great head lifts up and drops down, signaling your arrival. You release your fistfuls of fur and step down from his back.

 The Wolf takes a few steps away and jumps from a rocky ledge down a few feet. You stand on your tippy toes and see the edges of Seth’s body, crouched down as it was before.

 He stands and you automatically avert your eyes again. You refrain from saying anything until you can get some sort of cover for your body.

 “Here, the door is unlocked.” Seth walks over to the ranch home and opens the door. He waits for you to come through, protectively looking behind you for any signs of danger.

 You dip your head as you pass him and walk into a scantly furnished room. You see a set of clothes on two chairs and you run up to snatch a button up shirt from one chair.  You tug it over your head before Seth can turn the lamp on and you spin around. Once you face him you realize that he isn’t dressed yet, so you grab the pants and throw them in his general direction.

 “Here already!” you shout with a crack in your voice.

 Seth pulls on the Dungarees, fitting him just fine. He takes a step toward the other chair and picks up the remaining clothes. He pulls out the linen bottoms and places them in front of you.

 “The waistband is adjustable.” He points at a drawstring as he backs up to the free chair.

 You tug them on without any particular gracefulness and slam yourself down in the chair to comfortably adjust the pants. You work your jaw as you think of your first question and pull your legs up to your chest in the seat.

 “Am I high?” You ask resolutely.

 “No.” Seth answers, patiently awaiting you to mentally adjust before delving into too much detail.

 “Where are we?” You ask, never having been on a ranch in your many travels, but the tell tale signs were quite obvious.

 “New Mexico.” Seth crosses his arms over his chest, engorging his biceps.

 “New Mexico...” you repeat to yourself, trying to calculate how far exactly that would mean you are from home.

 “That’s nearly 27 hours away?” You say incredulously.

 “Driving it is...” Seth says cryptically.

 “Was I just riding a Wolf for over a full day’s trip non-stop?” Your eyes widen in disbelief, many thoughts running through your head.

 “No. We rode about 40 minutes South East from where we were.” Seth chooses his words carefully.

 “We rode? Where were you?” You start and Seth brings a hand to his mouth. You shake your head and declare, “It’s at least a three hour ride to get from snow like that to dry desert like this, what do you mean 40 minutes?”

 Seth raises his eyebrows and is about to speak but you can’t help but stare at his distracting toned physique, “First, could you please put that shirt on?”

 Seth chuckles as he raises the corners of the shirt up to his shoulders, “I think this one was meant for you.” He demonstrates that the hem of the shirt only reaches his navel from the top of his torso.

 “Oh.” you look down at your shirt, realizing that it practically drifts down to your knees. You instinctively place your hands on your breasts and Seth smiles slyly, “You don’t have to take it off.”

 You walk up to him, knowing full well that if you don’t put that shirt on, that he will remain half-dressed while you try to keep your eyes up to his face. You stare him defiantly in the eyes and snatch the shirt from his hands.  A flash of surprise crosses his face before he is taken over by an impressive laughter. You turn to a hallway, assuming one of them must be a bathroom where you can change.  You open the first door on the left to a laundry room, with two outdated Frigidaire machines. Close enough. You decide and quickly swap out the shirts, feeling self conscious about your lack of bra or panties. Oh well, I always wanted to go commando.  You walk out to the main room and toss the flannel at Seth, “Button up, buttercup.” you say sharply and he smirks a childish smile.

 As he finishes off the last bottom buttons you spin in a frenzy of questions, “What are we doing here? What does everyone back home think? Do they know where we are? Where I am? Why are we going South?”

 “South East.” Seth corrects and you gape at him.

 “What is in the South East?!” You shout.

 “New Orleans.” Seth raises an eyebrow at you.

 You shut your mouth and flutter your head left to right before hissing, “Why are we going to New Orleans?”

 “You were looking for answers.” Seth stated so confidently that you felt like New Orleans might have all of the answers to what is going on right now.

 “Is one of those answers going to tell me what question I’m asking?” You snap back.

 Seth rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and runs his hands through his hair before pulling up the chair directly across from you.  “Ask me what you’ve been avoiding asking.” he leans in toward you, placing his forearms atop his thighs.

 You are taken aback by this forward command, but you decide to comply is in your best interest so you inhale sharply through your nose, “Where were you when I was riding the Wolf?”

 “I am a shape-shifter.” Seth answers instantly, “The Quileute tribe in La Push is an ancient bloodline of shape-shifters meant to protect against vampires.” He stops himself from going further.

 “You? You were the Wolf?” You squinted at Seth’s face, closely inspecting his eyes for any signs of faltering.

 “Think about what you saw. You watched me shift.” He says firmly.

 “You keep saying shift. You said I was going to shift.” You lean in closer to Seth, “Am I a shape-shifter?” You inquire.

 “You’re a Lycanthrope. As far as I can tell.” Seth says without wavering.

 “What’s the difference?” You ask petulantly.

 “Shape-shifters take the form that resembles their ancestral fathers. Lycanthropes are children of the moon.” Seth briefly describes.

 “I don’t understand what that means.” You admit.

 “You can’t be a shape-shifter because you’re not a descendant of Taha Aki-” Seth stops when he sees the look of utmost confusion on your face, “It doesn’t matter. You are a little bit different than me.”

 “But we are alike?” You add to his explanation.

 “Yes, we are alike in some ways.” He smiles gently to himself.

 You sit in the chair, jiggling your foot in anticipation. You are trying to connect all of the dots, but it’s still not adding up to a complete explanation.  Somewhere in the house a window whistles from a crack in the frame or old wooden joists.  You suck your lip into your mouth and rake your teeth against it neurotically, breaking up dry skin on it’s surface.

 “I think you can see everything that happened, once we get to the New Orleans.” Seth mirrors your posture and your lip chewing, feeling particularly tuned in to your body.

 “What’s in New Orleans?” you ask timidly, not feeling as confident as Seth that the answers to any questions will be revealed there.

 “A witch doctor.” Seth says, earning a maniac chuckle from you, “I think anyway. Based off of your description.” He amends, but your laugh only becomes more hysteric.

 “My description?” You get out between humorless wheezes.

 “It won’t make as much sense if I try to explain it to you now. I’m sure you’ll remember or...be shown, if we go there.” Seth shakes his head apologetically.

 “Okay. Then, can we go now?” You ask eagerly.

 Seth looks out the window ambivalently and scratches his shoulder, “You don’t feel like you need rest?” He asks without pushing you.

 “I feel like the only thing I need right now is to get to New Orleans as soon as possible.” You say with a newfound determination, of inexplicable origin, “How fast can we get there?”

 Seth takes a deep breath and calculates in his head, “Um... Seven? Seven and a half hours?” he waves a hand in the air noncommittally.

 You stare at him in a vague stupor of awe, “That would ...we’d be going like 150 miles an hour? What are you, a helicopter?”

 “If we hadn’t been running around so much for several days straight I might have been able to get us there in five.” Seth says cockily wagging his head.

 You raise an eyebrow at him but your priority is already set, so you decide to let his actions speak for themselves.  “Alright, let’s get a move on,” you stand up before taking a second look around the house, “Uh, what about...” you point your finger around the room and down at your clothes.  “It’s okay, we were expected. It was meant to be a pitstop.” Seth answers your incomplete question. Although you weren’t very sure of what you were asking.

 After witnessing another phasing -and feeling slightly less comfortable in your clothes than the first time riding bare- you arrive in a narrowly populated area outside of NOLA. You wait for the Wolf to disappear and Seth to come back to you and you hand him his borrowed clothes.

 “Where now?” you ask, expecting Seth to know the way, but he seems to look around the dawn-lit park without direction.

 “You don’t know?” you gape at him, to which he lifts his shoulders innocently, “You just said she was in New Orleans.” he replies sheepishly.

 “Right.” you say. I just said New Orleans. You decide this is ridiculous and this guy definitely roofied you and possibly even put you on some harder drugs that are making you see crazy dire wolves and body morphing humans and now he is trying to convince you that you decided to go to New Orleans and you are believing all of this bullshit-

 “Hey,” Seth takes your hand and places it between his two palms, warm and inviting. He looks deeply into your eyes and something slithers inside you and slows down your racing heartbeat, makes you feel safe and calm.

 “This is how cults start...” you whisper barely audibly under your breath, and Seth lets out a relieved smile, completely unfazed by your remark.

 “We’ll find her, let’s start walking.” He says, keeping your hand in one of his palms, tenderly but keeping a needy grip.

 You follow Seth hypnotically as the two of you pass intoxicated groups of good-time chasers, and young sloppy kissing teenagers. The bright green, purple, and yellow colors of the streets are festive and make you feel giddy with excitement. You remember this place from when you were a child.  Your father moved you place to place, but you remember there were some years that you stayed here in town. Some years that your father would bring you back on visits, but they were short and seemingly random.  You blinked as you crossed over Bourbon Street and bright lights flashed overhead and all around you. Seth kept walking and as you made your way to quieter, more residential areas, you observed the gorgeous architecture of the 1800-1900s homes.  Side by side were Creole cottages and historic mansions, each adorned with tiny blinking lights of many colors. Some of the smaller homes had the most brilliant displays of tinsel and ornaments hanging from their porches, while the mansions had intricate and elegantly lined up strings of bulbs. Wreaths embellished every door, and candles were lit in most windowpanes.

 After a few turns along side streets and main streets you two slow down. You look up at Seth and he is watching you silently.  “What’s up?” you ask, self-consciously, and Seth smirks a knowing smile, “Where are we going now?” He asks.  You furrow your brow at him and stop walking, “What? Don’t you know?” you interrogate, “You’ve been walking us so certainly around the streets!”  Seth tilts his head at you with that same smile and says, “You’ve been leading the way.”  You blink up at him, thinking of a response for a moment, “Well...” you wonder if he is pulling your leg, “I guess I was just admiring the houses.”  Seth makes a skeptical ‘O’ with his mouth and nods sarcastically as he turns to look around the neighborhood, “Hmm. This is inconspicuous.” he says, making you look around as well.

 It’s pretty residential, with a bodega on the corner and a couple of businesses and restaurants scattered randomly between homes. Your eye spots a graceful little parlor, garnished with cool colored paints and fabrics.  “That’s pretty.” You say and automatically start walking toward the door. Seth springs along behind you as you turn the large brass knob of the carved oak door. A bell chimes a tinny sound overhead, although the room seemed empty of attendants.  Inside you see many herbs hanging from the ceiling, although you’re not sure if it is permanent or a Christmasy decoration. It smells of Sage and lavender all around.

 You walk past shelves, inspecting old leather bound books and glass jars filled with pebbles and marbles of all kinds. A crystal dome sparkles under lights and you lean in to inspect it’s contents.  “Woah.” Seth says at something a few feet to your left. When you turn to see what caught his attention, you were diverted to a vial hanging from a wire rack.  Many different vials were scattered along the wrought iron bar, but this one seemed to be shimmering inside. Or at least you thought it was moving or something.

 “Hello.” a warm voice approaches.

 You peel your eyes away from the vial and come face to face with a beautiful dark skinned woman. Her hands were clasped in front of herself and you noted the many rings from knuckle to knuckles on each finger of her hands.

 “H-hi,” you say meekly, unable to look away from her mesmerizing eyes. Yellow rimmed the outside of her dark pupils, with flecks of light brown smattered throughout her iris. You’d only ever met one person with yellow eyes before, and it wasn’t as beautiful as this woman’s.  Her skin was so black that her eyes almost seemed to glow inside their sockets. The lighting in the room wasn’t very bright, and in it’s dimness it almost seemed as though she were a cat -turned human.  She smiles with a glint and reaches her arm overhead to grab a handful of the leather cords carrying pendants and ampoules. Her forehead is wrapped with a silk scarf, keeping coarse hair out of her face. As she pulled her arm back you could smell the alluring scent of amber.

 “Come with me.” she says enigmatically, and you feel Seth’s hands on your shoulders. He remains silent, and you follow this mysterious woman in a trance-like march.

 You walk through a beaded curtain to a short hallway which ends at the entrance to a dining room. Or at least it was a room with a table surrounded by chairs. There were placemats on it’s face and a glass of water placed in front of one of the chairs.  You stand at the front of the room awaiting instructions, feeling Seth looming above you. The woman extends her arm toward the chairs, her rolled up sleeve floating down to her wrists.  You walk around the table and choose a chair engraved with the image of a grape-vine. Seth sits next to you in a stained pine chair with a modern 3-leg design.  You anxiously stir in your chair, anticipating what happens next.

 Suddenly, the woman turns around and throws the corded trinkets onto the table and they slide outward to the edges of the table. You flinch, making Seth reach out an arm around your shoulder, comfortably letting you know that he is there.

 “Ah.” She says symbolically and turns to one of the doors, knocking on it’s face, “I think my sister would like to meet you.” she says and sits down one seat away from Seth.

 You and Seth exchange indecisive glances and give one another weary smiles. Is there where I’m supposed to go? You think impatiently, wondering if this is just some showy New Orleans performance to bring in customers.

 The knob turns with a click and out comes an equally dark, casually dressed woman. She has regular brown eyes and thick, short dreadlocks loosely arranged around her head. She sat down in front of the glass of water and moved it out of the way.  You took note of a white fang tattooed on the back of her hand before she started speaking, “My sister tells me that something in our shop interests you.”  You look from her to the yellow-eyed beauty sitting next to her, hands folded neatly on the table. You look to Seth, trying to remember if you spoke to that woman before she led you to the back room. You are pretty sure that you saw her, then you came here, and she didn’t have a chance to talk to her sister yet.  You turn back to them and say, “You have many interesting things, but I don’t think any of this is relevant to my lifestyle.” you say, unsure if this is another sales tactic of theirs.

 “What drew you to that vial there?” She points an unpolished finger at the cord you were inspecting in the front of the shop.

 “It’s shimmery. Just drew my attention, that’s all.” You shrug. Seth squints at the table, looking around all of the contents.

 “Is that all?” The yellow eyed woman taps her long, thin fingers one by one along the face of the table. You don’t get a chance to answer before she says, “Why then, was that vial drawn to you as well?” she says with a sense of determination.

 “What is that supposed to mean?” You say affronted by the weird statement.

 Seth pointed at the vial in front of you, “Are you talking about this one?” he asks the women before turning to you, “Were you looking at this earlier?” Seth asks and you pause a moment before answering, “Well, I was kind of looking at all of them.”  One of the sisters makes a hum and the other clears her throat. Seth points at the other contents of the table, “When she threw that all on the table, this one slid right towards you.” he points out.  “So what? That’s how physics works.” You counter at him defensively and he points closer to the vial, “Did you say that it was shimmering?” he questions.

 “Shimmering, shining, whatever. Just like glittery or something.” you say, quickly glancing at the vial again, pulled in by it’s sparkle.

 “It’s just a vial of blood, Y/N.” Seth says, curiously.

 You turn back to the vial and tilt your head, noticing that it’s not really twinkling after all. Maybe it was just the lights reflecting on the glass or something.

 “It’s a very special vial of blood. Not just anything, young shifter.” The woman with yellow eyes says.

 You spring up, very erect in your chair, quickly glancing at Seth from your peripherals. Seth does not seem nearly as troubled as you are, in fact he seems rather excited.

 “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a child of Taha Aki down here.” Her smile glistens with a devious glint.

 Seth wrinkles up his nose, “I can’t believe I didn’t realize earlier, your’e a -” The woman slams her hands on the table, interrupting Seth with a demanding tone, “I am. I’m not the only one, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” the woman flickers her eyes imperceptibly over to you.

 You look between Seth and the woman, unsure what to make of the half-worded conversation. The sister takes a sip of her water and you turn toward her when the glass clicks down onto the table.

 “Why am I here?” you say to her, deciding that whatever was going on, you may be in the right place after all.

 “You came here on your own.” She says, giving you a moment to think of what you really mean to ask.

 You touch your collarbone, thinking of the blood that was smeared and dry across your skin. You take a deep gulp and look up at the woman, “What am I?” you ask with a vulnerable fear.

 “Ah.” She sits forward and places her wrists on the table, parallel to one another, “My mother told me about you.” she says to your surprise. 

 “You’re going to want to lay down on the table.” She looks between her wrists and the yellow-eyed woman stands up and walks over to you. Seth bristles in her presence tensing his body, but she nods at him and he relaxes.  The woman reaches her hands to you, her sleeves exposing her delicate arms. She motions her head to the table, expecting you to take her hands and climb up onto your chair.  You awkwardly grab her hands and push yourself onto your chair, and take a step onto the table. You feel silly, but everyone else around you is serious, so you crouch down and lay flat on your back. You adjust yourself so that your head is between the sister’s arms, and you look up at her expectantly.

 “I’m going to take you down a journey. It might not make sense at first, but we will go slowly, and you just need to allow yourself to flow through your memories.” She says stoically, and you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do.

 “You relax. Close your eyes. You might feel a pinch, but don’t resist.” She says, “Go backwards. Let’s unlock what you don’t want to see, then you can reveal what you came to see.”

 Before you can tell her that her words are meaningless nonsense, you feel a tight twist of pain in your head. Your body seizes up, and you feel trapped in place.  You start to panic, feeling your skin fill up with heat, and your breath is icy and sharp. You try to open your eyes, but your eyesight is flooded with a cloudy silver screen.  You watch the environment around you unfold slowly, as trees begin to emerge and sounds of nature surround you. You can’t turn your head, but you see Seth far off with a long handled axe.  As the scene moves left to right you notice the sound of crunching snow echoing. The heat of your skin becomes especially evident when you see dark fur standing upright against a tree. Your vision starts shaking and you feel sharp pain in your lungs.  Large claws scratch up the trunk of the tree, and you feel panic flooding your senses. You don’t move, and your image remains on the mass of fur, guessing it was a bear.   You are frozen in place as you watch it, when a shout behind you catches the attention of the bear. It turns to face you and when it notices you, the great mass crouches down to the ground and charges at you.  A guttural scream fills your ears, and adrenaline rushes through your body. Incapable of running away, you throw your hands out in front of you.  Just then, the bear is thrown against a nearby tree. A flash passes your sight and you look to the bear, where a russet brown Wolf is slamming it’s body against the bear.  It turns it’s massive head to you and before you can let out another scream, you feel your body shaking all over.

 Searing pain stabs through you and breaks into your bones like sledgehammers. You snap and crack and contort your body in unnatural forms. Your blood feels as though it is boiling you from the inside out, and your pain horrifies you from every angle of your body.  Rage fills you in the place of pain, until you feel yourself flung at the bear with an aggressive rush of adrenaline. Something hot in your mouth spills all over you, and it feels sticky and thick.  You whip around to the Wolf and as you see it the beast howls at you and drops to the ground defensively. Something about it’s howl soothes you and puts your rage to peace. Your blood is still hot, but you feel your adrenaline subside.  You kneel down in acknowledgement of it’s amity. It remains in place as it glowers up at you, and you feel a thought pop up into your mind. You’re a Wolf. the thought sounds masculine, and not at all like your normal internal voice.  The Wolf looks at you with dark brown eyes and again a thought speaks up in your head, You’re a Wolf, but you have the thirst for blood.  This time you shake your head, confused about the thought. That’s not something you were thinking. Yet, it was there in your head.  You look down at your body and you are extremely disturbed to see that you are covered in fur...and blood.

 Y/N? Another thought rings in your head, and you echo to yourself, Y/N? But this time in your own voice. The Wolf across from you whines in your direction, and again another voice sounds in you, Do you know what is going on right now?  You look around, making sure you don’t see another person around speaking to you. Confusion grips hold of you and you think to yourself, I don’t know what is going on right now.   The Wolf breaths a heavy breath and stands up, making you more alert. Simultaneously the image on the silver screen fades away and the sounds of the room return to you.

 “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?” The woman above you croaks and you struggle to speak. She shushes you and whispers overhead, “Remain open and receptive. Don’t bring yourself fully back yet. Let’s move farther...”

 You see flashes of you and Seth hanging garlands and hear snippets of your voice describing your disappointment that your boyfriend forgot you always spend the anniversary of your mother’s death with your father.

 “No. Deeper.” The woman’s voice whispers above you, and you fall into a dark and silent state.

 A fuzzier image appears in front of your eyes. It is blurry and hazy, but the voices are clear.  “Please,” A familiar deep sound vibrates overhead, “My daughter is sick. I need you to help her, please.” the voice is full of sorrow mixed with fear and desperation.  Your unstable image reveals a face you know very well. Your father looks weary and tired, as though he hasn’t slept well in many weeks, or months perhaps.   A dark skinned woman with low cut hair rushes over to you and places her arm around your father. She rushes him behind a beaded curtain and seats him down at a table.  “Please,” your father crows and the woman places a hand on his shoulder, “Maxine.” she says invitingly, “What is your name?”  “Th-this is my daughter, Y/N,” your father begs, tears welling in his eyes, “She is very ill. Please, you need to help her, she’s been cursed.” His voice cracks on the last beat.  The woman inspects you head to toe and she turns looks to your father once more, “Why do you say she is cursed?” she says doubtfully.  “She killed her mother.” He gushes with sobs now, “I don’t blame her, I love her more than the world... but it was a complicated birth.” He says through sniffles and sharp gasps of breath.  The woman waits expectantly for your father to regain his composure. She offers him a handkerchief and rubs his arm tenderly. After a few minutes he continues to speak, “Since then... she’s been cursed by the Heavens. Every moon she becomes a beast.” he looks up at Maxine with pleading eyes.  The woman nods knowingly and reassures your father, “It will be alright.” she comforts and stands up to walk through a curtained door.  When she returns she holds a leather cord in her hand with a small glass vial, “It’s okay, I have Hope.”

 You feel hands on your face, your real face, and a voice brings you back to the moment right now. “That’s enough, we don’t want to completely drain one another.” the woman above you says, glistening with sweat, and she takes the glass of water to swallow it down thirstily.

 Your eyes readjust and notice the lights were out, save a few candles against some of the walls. You prop up on your elbows and look down at your body, shaking and drenched in sweat.  You look to the edge of your feet and see Seth is just a breath’s width away from your feet, anxiously watching you. He is holding his elbows, tightly crossed over one another, and propping his head up.

 Seth’s face flashes you back to your first incomplete memory,  “What were we doing in the woods?” You ask, feeling out of breath and parched.  “You said you wanted to get a real tree, and asked if I could manage to cut one down and carry it back.” Seth says, a very drooping and exhausted smile on his face.  He looks on the verge of passing out, but for the moment your head is still reeling from the trip you just experienced. Carefully, you turn your head to one of the sisters, “What was that? Why was my Dad here?” your voice was hoarse and dry.  You look at the woman with yellow eyes and she is carefully cradling something small and glass in her open hand. You feel a shiver run over your body and you ask, “Was that the same ...I saw that in Maxine’s hand?” you turn to the sister next to you.  “That there is Hope.” she points at the vial.

  You shake your head in disbelief. Actually, more than disbelief you were feeling a great deal of questions bringing on a massive migraine.  “Let’s start from the beginning.” She says and wipes a bead of sweat from her brow, “Do you know who your mother was?” she asks, motioning for you to get back to the chair.  You crawl up onto your hands and knees and slowly inch backwards off of the table, “Um, my mother? Not really. My Dad and I only mourn the anniversary of her death.” you say as Seth offers his arm out to you for support.  After making your way back down to your seat, the woman adds, “Your birthday.” you gape at her in surprise and slowly nod your head.  “Well, it seems there is something your mother did not know about herself.” She touches the yellow eyed woman’s hand and after a moment her eyes glint in the candlelight as she gets up and walks out of the room. Your eyes remain on the sitting sister, awaiting an explanation.  “Your mother never killed anybody.” She starts, leaving you unsure of her direction, “However, had she killed a person - with intention or by accident - she would have learned that she was a Lycanthrope.”  Your fingers fidget in your lap, but you wait patiently for more from the woman, “You see, if she had not been separated from her parents when she was a small child, then maybe they would have told her she was a Lycanthrope.”  Seth seems absorbed by the woman’s explanation, even in his drained state of energy. The woman continues, “Under these circumstances, neither did she find out on her own, nor did her parents have the chance to reveal to her that she was Lycanthrope.”  She clicks her tongue and smacks her hands together theatrically, “Thus, she never had the opportunity to tell your father what she was.” She points directly at you and waggles her finger, “Therefore, he did not know that you too share the same burden.”

 You dig your nails into your palms, unable to follow this line of conversation, “Are you saying that I’m a Werewolf?” you say indignantly.

 The yellow-eyed woman returns with a tray of glasses and pitcher of water, “Not only that,” she chirps, but does not add to her comment after placing down the tray in the center of the table.  Her sister grabs the glasses and fills them to the top, pushing one halfway to you, “When your mother died giving birth to you, a gene was triggered inside of you, unlocking your Werewolf power.” She pauses to take a gulp of her water, so you lean over and take the glass she offered you as well.  “As an infant you were not terribly dangerous, but you were a terrifying sight to your father - a man of no knowledge of the supernatural.” She waved her finger in the air, drawing invisible lines from one side of her to the other, “Your body changed to a small furry animal with claws and sharp teeth, and you thrashed about savagely in your crib, during every cycle of the moon.” She pauses for another gulp of water.  You feel your thirst scratching your throat, but you don’t want to miss a word of her explanation so you sit in place holding your glass.  “The man was lost, he could not turn to anyone for fear of losing you - the only reminder of his lost love. So he came to the world of the occult - New Orleans.” She waves her arms around the room dramatically.

 “Wait,” you break your self-control and interrupt her fantastical story telling, “My father told me I was sick when I was younger, and he said that a holistic doctor cured me.” You place your palms flat on the table, feeling that it is the only sturdy object in your present.  “Yes, my mother was known for her holistic practices.” She raises an eyebrow, waiting to see if you follow her line of suggestion, “Nobody could kill a child of the moon, not even a witch. One look at your fluttering, innocent eyes and she knew there was another way to save you.” She paused for emphasis, “Something that would allow you to keep living a life identical to that of a human.” She reaches over to the yellow eyed woman and grabs the leather cord, “Something that would break you of your slavery to the moon cycle, while also aging and living ignorant of your strengths.”  As she said this something in your body pulsed and your eyes snapped to the vial of blood. You were afraid to ask, but you pushed yourself nonetheless, “What is in that vial?” you shake with anticipation.

 “Vampire blood.” She says and you catch your breath, while Seth stiffens in his seat. He lets out a heavy sigh and speaks up for the first time, “Wouldn’t vampire blood kill a werewolf?”  The woman smiles and leans forward toward the two of you, “This is the blood of a special vampire.” She looks at the glass and spins it in front of her face, “A very special little girl named Hope. Mikaelson.” she breaths.  The yellow eyed woman is entranced by the spinning vial as well and she makes a low sound, “A Hybrid.”  Seth swallows harshly and breaths out a barely audible word, “Renesmee.”

 Your face pinches together, feeling completely left out of everyone’s circle of knowledge, but the yellow eyed woman snaps to both of you, “A Vampire, Wolf Hybrid.”  You flinch back in your seat, feeling very nervous by her excitement. Seth places a hand in your lap, and you squeeze him tightly. The sister stops the spinning vial in her hand and turns back to face you, “Haven’t you wondered why nothing ever tasted quite good?”  You screw up your face and shake your head, “What? No?” you bark defensively, not quite sure what qualifies as good anyway.  “Isn’t it strange that you can always tell when someone is telling a lie?” she asks, and you aren’t sure what she is talking about, but you don’t respond.  “There might be certain things you don’t understand because you grew up this way your entire life. But the fact still remains that you’ve noticed you are uniquely different from your peers.” she says expectantly.

 “I don’t have any friends.” you say, feeling ashamed that this is quite true. “We moved around too much, and I only ever talked to my father anyway. Well, practically...” you add as the image of your boyfriend pops up in your head.  Seth glances at you nervously, but the woman pipes in, “Isn’t it strange then that your father keeps bringing you back here?”  You chew your lip nervously, trying to remember anything about those trips, “We... that’s true that we visit once in a while. But we don’t really do anything. I just remember we come here, then we leave.”  “Isn’t that strange? Why would you travel all this way, and not have one memorable memory of your trip?” She prods, and you look around the table skeptically.  “Is it possible that something causes your father to make the sudden trip? Does he ever tell you why it’s time for you to come back to New Orleans?” she interrogates, but you can’t remember anything prompting the trips. You don’t really remember much about the month or so before your trips anyway, it’s a little bit blurry.  “So...” you decide you feel uncomfortable with all of these questions and no solid answers, so you sway the subject, “If that is vampire blood... does that make me a vampire? Why doesn’t sunlight bother me? Why don’t I need blood?”

 She leans back in her chair and observes you curiously, “My dear, you are one of a very small handful of Hope Mikaelson Hybrids. Your Wolf side allows you to walk in daylight and eat human food without the need for blood. Your Vampire side is what broke your bonds to the moon, allowing you to control your phasing. Blood will only make you stronger. But all your father was looking for was a cure to your beastly transformations, so that is what my mother gave you. Without blood, your vampire strength was only weakened, which works out well for a child wanting to grow up as a normal human. Without knowledge of your Wolf side, you wouldn’t know that you had the ability to change. Unless, that is, you were stricken with a massive and uncontrollable fear.” She crosses her legs and narrows her eyes at you, “Have you ever felt a bone-rattling amount of adrenaline shaking you up with horror?”

 “I...” you search your mind, and feel Seth’s hand twitch in your lap, “That..bear I think terrified me?” you said hesitantly and turn to Seth. He seems to have a face of much more understanding than you feel.  “Yes, that would do the trick.” She says, waiting for you to make the conclusion everybody else in the room has already.

 “Are you saying that I turned into a Wolf?” Crystal clear realization finally hits you hard in the face, and so did something else.

 You open your eyes to look up at Seth, hovering over you as usual, gently cradling your hand in his own, “You were dehydrated and exhausted. You should be fine now.”  You felt woozy with a killer headache, but otherwise nothing else made sense. You raised a hand to your head and spun through your thoughts, going through everything you learned tonight.  “Here,” A dark hand appeared in front of you with a ceramic cup, “Specially brewed tea, will fix you up quick.” A voice wafts around you, and without much resistance you take the cup and sip it’s contents.  It was bitter and tasted like dirt, making you wince. Seth chuckled, glad to see your reactions were still what he expects.  After you finish off the cup, you do feel better after all. The sharp pain in your brain subsides, and your body isn’t aching with lack of fluids.

 “I think that is all I can give you tonight. Of words and of medicine.” A woman’s voice floats around you, but despite feeling balanced, your body was still wobbly.  Seth swept you up into his arms, and he held you close to his body, “Thank you.” you hear him say as a tinny bell sounds overhead, and suddenly you hear the sounds of cars whooshing past you.  “What’s going on?” you yawned, and placed a hand on Seth’s burning chest. You felt the sway of what you assumed was Seth carrying you down the street.  “Let’s get somewhere safe.” He whispers, and you think you feel him nuzzle the side of your face. But that could have been the wind.

 Seth lays you down on a bed of blankets, soft and padded. You look up at him and see the caring smile he uses when watching over you.

 “What is it with you?” You say, sounding a little bit colder than you intended, “I mean, you know I have a boyfriend, right?”

 Seth’s face drops and he looks outside a window into the dark night. His eyes are uncertain when he opens his mouth to speak, “You shouldn’t be with him.” he finally manages to let out.

 You scoff at the teenage movie cliche and he looks hurt. Immediately you regret your reaction, so you cover it up by spitting out, “What, I should be with you instead?”

 He looks down at you sadly and runs a warm finger under your chin, “Yes, but even if I wasn’t here. You shouldn’t be with him.” He says so certainly that you blush under his touch, “He isn’t interested in you,”  Your bashfulness turns into anger and you snap at him, “What do you know? You haven’t even met him!”  He recoils his hand from your face and you feel cold where he leaves you, but you stay determined, and realize that you’ve been on a run-away spree with a strange man boy you don’t know at all.  “You don’t see it?” He says, looking physically hurt by your anger. You remain strong, although seeing him hurt that way touched you deeper than you would like to admit.  “What do you know?” You huff, turning your face away from Seth. He gets off of the bed and crouches down on the ground beside you.  “I know that you are the only person I can think about.” He says, “You are the only important creation in my whole world.”  You turn to him in shock, “You just met me.” you say and sit up in the bed, backing firmly against the wall, “Are you crazy?”  Seth leans his head onto the edge of the bed to look up at you, “There is something else you need to know about my tribe.”

 You try to avoid eye contact, but the corner of your eyes are drawn to him as if the depth of his gaze is pulling your eyes towards his.  “When we meet the person we are supposed to be with - our world changes.” He says with a staggering beat.  “It’s called imprinting.” he bats his dark eyelashes, “It is physically painful for me when you are apart from me. I cannot think of anybody else.”  The intensity of this conversation is making you super uncomfortable. You strain to look away from Seth, but it is agonizingly difficult, “Look... That sounds insane.” your eyes flicker to the ceiling for a moment before returning to the suffering face of Seth.  Your lips turn downward at him, “Listen,” you scoff in disbelief that you are about to say this out loud, “I don’t believe in soulmates.”

 Seth’s chest swelled up and he straightened out his back, “Tell me you don’t feel the pull.” he says with a blast of confidence, “You can choose to avoid me, and you can be with someone else, but you know that we are drawn to one another.” He leans toward you, dropping his eyes low in a sultry seduction, “We can’t help that. We can’t explain it, but it’s just there.”  You wanted to fight him and throw your arms out and push him away. You wanted to run out of the room and find a phone and call someone to come pick you up.  You wanted to scream. But not at Seth. You wanted to scream because something deep within you was stirring. Something is curling and unfurling and telling you that he is right.  Spontaneously your hand reached out toward his face, and it placed itself on his jaw. Completely without your permission, your thumb ran along his bottom lip, so hot and tender.  He drew his lips together, but when he opened them again his tongue came out ever so slightly, just enough to lick his lips.

 A hoarse voice whispered in the night, “Kiss me.”

 A voice, that sounded very much like your own.

  As Seth lifts himself up onto the bed your rogue hand moves from his chin to his hair. Your traitor fingers brush through his silky soft hair as he leans in toward you.  Trapped inside your own body, you could feel your blood racing and your heart pounding. Your eyes were wide and your body might have been trembling. Seth is over top of you, leaning down closer and closer. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and await his impact. Moments later, you feel nothing.  You peek open your eyes, and realize your hands have both curled into your chest, hovering over you protectively.  Seth is lingering over you, meticulously watching you. When your eyes meet he lets out a small and somber sigh. He leans back and sits at the edge of the bed again.  “Look at you,” he says in a hushed voice, reaching to your face, “You’re terrified.” he says as he wipes under your eye and you feel cool air hit something wet.

 You lay there frozen, completely bewildered by the sudden change of mood in the room. You watch him as he stands up and stretches, feeling unsure and surprised.  “I’m going to sleep on the floor. We’ll get back to Washington tomorrow.” He says with his back facing to you. He pauses for a moment, you’re sure of it, but then he just lays down on the ground.  You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and exhaustion takes over you once again.

 The sound of a rattling window draws you from your sleep. You peek an eye open and see Seth standing by the blowing curtains.

 “Just trying to air out the steam.” Seth rubs a towel over his head, “Couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d take advantage of the shower.” He walks over to the bathroom and you hear the sound of running water.

 “It takes a while to warm up,” he shouts from the bathroom, “Got it started in case you want to take one before we leave.” he walks back into the room and nods his head toward the door, “I’ll go get some coffee and beignets. That should give you some time.”

 Before you get a chance to say good morning he grabs the keys and leaves. You sit up in the bed and take a breath. You look to the bathroom, where sounds of hissing water splash around. 

 While you expected the trip to feel like an eternity, it ended up flying by without any notice. You were so inside of your head the entire ‘ride’ back about everything you’ve just discovered.

 Your entire world was turned upside-down.

 Your mother was a werewolf... but she never knew it... you are a hybrid vampire... with some sort of weird Native American soulmate... all of this making less and less sense. You hated that you didn’t have any control over your life anymore.  No, fuck that. You snapped at yourself. Nobody was going to tell you that you were a killer or an animal or somebody’s mate. You will be the leader and decision maker of your own life!

 Your bed of fur shakes and you hop off Seth’s back, noticing he brought you to your home. You turn to Seth’s Wolf form and place your hands on his muzzle. It’s much easier talking to him when he can’t answer back, or distract you with his body or make you dizzy with his seductive staring.  “Don’t change here.” You look deeply into his large glassy eyes, “I’m going home. I can’t talk about this right now. I don’t know what to say to you.” Seth’s chocolate eyes are locked on you and his body remains in place.  “Do you understand?” you rub the back of your hand above his nose, wondering if you could love him after all in this overgrown puppy dog form.  He whimpers a bit and his ears press back into his head, but nonetheless he nods faintly. You drop your arms and he backs away slowly before turning on his heels and running into the dark woods.

 You look to the house, not a single window lit in the nighttime. It must be rather late by now, and your father is either asleep or out on a trip himself. You can only hope the latter so that you don’t have to have this discussion with him too soon. There are too many questions you have for yourself before you are prepared for your father to ask them of you. Likewise, you probably have a certain amount of questions for him as well, you just haven’t thought of them yet.

 You look to the car in the driveway, knowing that your boyfriend might be worried sick. You decide you can’t wait for morning to see him, but you don’t have your phone to call ahead.  Oh well, here goes nothing. You run to the front door, kneeling down to grab the spare key under the flowerpot. You quietly pop inside in case father is home after all, and snatch up the car keys.

 Moments later you’re barreling down the empty roads, thinking of how to explain your sudden and extended disappearance. You wonder if a late night visit would be a good surprise or a burdensome one. But this is too important to put off a minute later.

 You pull in front of his apartment building and run up to the glass door. You smash the call button over and over again, excited and nervous.

 “Hello?” A groggy voice comes through the telecom and a static pause queues your response, “It’s me! Let me up!” you jitter with energy.  “Y/N?” He says with a tinge of worry in his voice and the door buzzes the lock free. You pull the door and spring inside, unable to bear the anticipation anymore.  You huff up to his door and as soon as you reach for the knob it opens in front of you.

 “What are you doing here?” he asks, tying the belt of his robe. You jump for his arms and wrap around him in a tight hug.  You don’t feel a returned embrace, but after a few seconds he grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you away, “Do you know what time it is?”  You look at him astounded, “No, I don’t. But aren’t you worried about me?” you screw up your face, “Aren’t you excited I’m here?”  He looks you up and down, “What? Has something gotten into you?”

 You take a step backward and shake your head in disbelief, “Yeah. Something has gotten into me.” you look down to blink away tears, “Have you even noticed that I was gone?”  He leans against the doorframe and yawns, “Darling, don’t be ridiculous-” he starts but you step forward and shove him, “No, don’t call me darling.” You turn away from him as it dawns on you that Seth may be right, “Don’t call me anything at all.”  He scoffs in shock and raises his voice slightly, “You are causing a scene! Are you acting out for something?” He brushes himself off and straightens out his robe, “Is this because I haven’t called you? I’m a busy man, you know I have to seize my opportun-”

 “You know what. We’re not really working out.” You wipe your face with your sleeve and suck in a deep breath before turning back to him one last time, “Good luck. I really hope you get everything you are looking for.”  With your last steady word you run outside into the night and release a string of sobs. You feel foolish. You feel like you’ve wasted your time. You feel like you’ve been so blind and ridiculously hopeful.

 Everything is swirling, and your head doesn’t make any sense. Your eyesight is red and black and your breath is sharp and painful. You stop thinking about pain and love and hope.  A deep howl emanates from your core and rumbles through you as you throw your head back and release all of your pain into the sky.  You feel four legs hitting the ground over and over in a relentless run. You feel your hair ruffled all over your body by the wind around you.

 A growl roars in your ear and you stop your trot. Something draws your eyes upward where a shadow stands on a rock, blocking out the silhouette of the moon.  The shadow jumps down to the ground in front of you and looks you eye to eye. Glassy, chocolate eyes bore deeply into you and waves of calm wash over you. Slowly you the shadow grows larger and larger over you.  Actually, the shadow wasn’t growing larger, but you were shrinking smaller and smaller. You felt your teeth drawing back and claws receding to soft, skin covered hands.  The shadow disappears into the darkness and you close your eyes, trying to keep your breath steady. Tears bloom in your eyes again, but from a general feeling of helplessness.  

 Footsteps crack twigs and rustle leaves somewhere nearby. You focus on keeping your heartbeat level.  Seth crowds you from behind and even with your back to him you know his face is filled with determination.  “It isn’t right.” you shake your head, unable to fully grasp a hold of yourself. You can feel the air whooshing between you in a hot and needy breeze.

 “Y/N,” Seth whispers, “This is the only right thing that I have ever known.” as he speaks you can feel the core of your body rumbling inside. You felt like a piece of metal and Seth’s presence was a magnet. Forcing yourself away from him took so much energy out of you.  “Listen you-” You take a breath and turn around to face Seth, only to see he is only about half a foot away from you. Air catches in your throat and you forgot what you were going to say to him.  “Y/N...” Seth breaths inches from your face, “I know you’re scared,” he places his forehead to your forehead, “I can help guide you through this. I will be here for you. Whatever you need from me.”  Your hand is in the dirt and you feel Seth place his hand over your hand. You allow him to entwine his fingers with yours.  “Whatever you want from me.” he whispers.

 You softly moan and close your eyes, the last tear that you have to spill rolling down your cheek.  Seth leans in and kisses the drop away, warming your face where his lips touch.

 You give in to your desires, allowing yourself to be overcome with heat all over. The piece of metal inside of you transformed into a perfect magnet to match Seth’s.  Your body is launched at Seth, and hungrily he wraps his arms around you. Your lips crash into Seth’s and you feel yourself melting into him. Tongues wrestle between you, slick with saliva and burning with desire.  For a split second you feel Seth’s lips curl back into a smile, but hastily he is on top of you, pushing you into the ground. Although your bodies were on fire, not a single bead of sweat fell from either one of you. You push your body up to Seth’s and grab at him with needy hands. Your fingernails scrape into his back as he kisses down your neck and shoulders. He makes his way to your collarbone and you arch in pleasure, unable to contain the sensation.  Whimpers escape your lips and Seth growls with arousal at your delicious noises. He nibbles at your clavicle and you groan once more. This time, it pushed Seth over the edge.

 He lifts you upright and splays his legs outward beneath you. He sets you down onto his lap and for the first time you feel his erection pressed against you. You spread your thighs and land your knees down to the ground for support. As you steady yourself overtop of him, Seth runs his fingers along your sides, tickling you. Before you can slide him inside of you, the tickling makes you double over and let out a burst of laughter.  Seth laughs back at you, but continues to palm his hands around your body curiously. You hold onto Seth’s shoulders and pull yourself up to regain your concentration.  You grab his throbbing length with one hand and aim it at your opening. With one look at Seth’s darkened eyes, you plunge down as far as you can go. You yelp at the intensity of penetration, not entirely prepared for his entire cock inside of you. The sensation was shockingly painful but felt completely fitting as well.  “We’re made for one another.” Seth roars into your neck, and you gasp tiny sharp breaths as you force your body up and down onto his lap.  You ram your hands into Seth’s chest and he falls back with a thud. You keep one hand on his chest as your other hand crawls up your thigh as you ride Seth’s cock. Your hand explores your own body, feeling renewed and unknown. You reach to your breast and tweak your nipple, making your blood rush to your erogenous hot spots. Your hand roams your belly and searches for another place of pleasure.  Seth grips your thighs and watches you hungrily as your fingers land on your clitoris. You rub circles with a firm pressure as you continue your rhythmic bobbing atop Seth.  As you feel tightness welling up in your loins, Seth too seems swirling with an impending orgasm. You lean back just enough to change the position of Seth’s shaft inside your walls. You twist your hips gently to really hit different nerves as you swing back and forth.  Your engorged clitoris is throbbing and when Seth brings his fingers to press atop yours, you feel an explosion inside of you. Deep inside you feel Seth shooting into you, and from deeper within you feel waves of electricity shooting all over your body.  As the rumbles of orgasm quiet down, you fall onto Seth’s chest. Together your bodies smolder in the dirt, weaving into one another with each heavy breath. You are unable to open your eyes for several minutes, before your fusion eases you into a peaceful sleep.

 Seth stares up at the stars of the night as they slowly turn orange in the dawn. He inhales your scent and closes his eyes, a very relieved and content smile spread across his face. 

#Twilight #seth clearwater #Request #Twilight Fic #Twilight Fiction #Twilight Fanfiction #Seth x Reader #Seth Clearwater x Reader #SethxReader #Crossover #Crossover fiction #Twilight x Originals #Twilight x Vampire Diaries #Vampire Diaries #The Vampire Diaries #The Originals #The Originals Fanfiction #Fluff #angst #Twilight fluff #twilight au #the originals au #vampire diaries au

[alewyren]

regarding caulifla and kale, and whether or not they’re intended to be a couple: an actual serious discussion

I’ll start off by admitting that I am somewhat biased as a longtime fan of DBZ and a lesbian myself, but keep in mind that I’m also very jaded and realistic about the possibility of actual same-sex romance in non-specifically targeted media. In fact, my own personal experiences on the matter are what have given me incentive to look at LGBT issues so critically. In short, this is not just me saying “they’re totally canon, just look at them omg they’re so cute~”

Regardless of your own personal feelings towards them being a couple, there is actually a very interesting discussion to be had here.

So let’s start by taking a step back here and contextualizing this issue by talking about the inclusion of female super saiyans at all, completely independent of whether or not they are a couple. For thirty years, female super saiyans were complete fanon. They existed as OCs in video games, most notably Dragonball Heroes and Xenoverse, but were very notably and deliberately excluded from Dragonball GT. Despite this series having two characters who should, by all logic, have the potential to do so.

So the question becomes this: why, in a franchise that has had female saiyans with the potential to go super for a long time, did it take thirty years for it to actually happen in canon media?

Various justifications for this have cropped up over the years. “Pan and Bra lived in an era too peaceful to trigger the transformation”--Goten and Trunks serve as a definitive counterargument. Why could Pan and Bra have not had a similar rivalry? Was it just because it would be too similar to the relationship of Goten and Trunks, or because the relationship between two young girls was not worth exploring? Additionally, should the events of GT not been enough to trigger the transformation in either of them? Pan especially--Bra at least has the justification of not being a fighter at all, though one must wonder why, in a warrior race whose cast is comprised mostly of male characters, two of the three (Bra, Gine, Tarble) we have seen who are completely disinterested in fighting are women. It’s a statistical improbability for it to be a coincidence.

The other justifications, “Pan does not have enough Saiyan blood” and “Women just don’t have the same level of anger/emotional intensity/strength/whatever the fuck sexist BS to trigger the transformation” are and always were complete garbage.

So then, what’s the actual reason? As far as Toriyama himself goes, he said it himself. He didn’t know how to draw a female super saiyan. The logistics of drawing specific things (the spots on perfect cell come to mind) come up as an excuse or complaint for him a lot, so this... does make a sort of sense, albeit indicates unconscious sexism on his part. No, I’m not saying he just hates women, that’s clearly bogus, just that it raises questions about why the idea of drawing a muscular, spiky-haired woman was a problem at all. His solution was to dodge the issue entirely by making all the saiyans who were relevant for the majority of Z male. Trunks or Goten could have easily been female, had he wanted to go that direction, but he didn’t. Pan could have easily gone super saiyan as a five year old during the end of Z, but she didn’t. Which... fair enough, I’m not gonna sit here and demonize Toriyama or anything, especially when his views have clearly evolved. I’m merely examining his decisions and the logic behind them.

As far as GT goes, the reasoning is similar. Throughout all of GT, there is a pervasive unwillingness to introduce new ideas or take risks, which was ultimately the series’ downfall. All of the villains and concepts introduced are merely rehashes of what was already there. The Black Star Dragonballs? Born from wishes that were already made. Super 17? Literally already an existing character. Baby? Shaped by events long established in the Z anime. Super Saiyan 4? Super Saiyan+Oozaru. Some of these ideas were actually really interesting and had a lot of potential, but this is why GT so thoroughly failed in execution: it was unwilling to actually do anything new with any of its ideas or characters, so much as just rehash existing plotlines. Female super saiyans, of course, would have been something very new to the franchise, which is why it never happened.

This can, of course, be contrasted with post-Battle of Gods media, which has done nothing but invent brand new lore and ideas for the universe. Gods of Destruction and their angels, the existence of the multiverse, Super Saiyan God and its related transformations, Goku Black being... actually a legitimately interesting character rather than Turles 2.0, Frieza being relevant in terms of power again instead of a laughingstock, you get the picture. Some people don’t like this, because it goes in such a different direction from the original source material and feels like a series of ass pulls. Other people think it’s a breath of fresh air, and that any contrivances are ultimately to the benefit of the franchise. Regardless of where you stand here, the difference in approach is quite notable, and Super has certainly been objectively more successful than GT despite its very rough start.

Also quite notably, Super has been taking steps to give its female characters more spotlight than Z or GT ever did. While the depictions of Chichi and Videl have been... flawed, Bulma’s been given plenty to do, 18 has kept both her power and her personality, Pan has been absolutely adorable and widely beloved in contrast to her GT counterpart, and that’s not even going into the new characters introduced. Vados? At the time of her introduction, arguably the strongest character in the franchise, and hilariously snarky to boot. Future Mai? Awesome. Nothing more to be said there, Future Mai is just awesome. And with the increasing popularity of the aforementioned Heroes and Xenoverse, the demand and love for female super saiyans among the fanbase was quite clear.

So by the time of the Universe Survival Arc, it was less a matter of if we would ever get a female super saiyan, but when. Everything was pointing in that direction, especially as Super seemed to be going out of its way to address fan wants and criticisms as the show progressed.

Enter Female Broly.

For those of you who may not have been following the fandom when the first trailer for the Universe Survival Arc dropped, this was like a freaking nuclear bomb being dropped on the community. Not only did we learn that we were getting a canon version of a controversial movie villain, which ruffled quite a few jimmies in and of itself, but it was confirmed--we were getting a girl super saiyan. A powerful, relevant one, by the look of it. Any concerns about giving the girls “unattractive” bulging muscles or spiky hair? Yeah, no, those were fucking annihilated on the spot, and they were clearly showing that off.

Some people weren’t happy about this, though, for a variety of reasons. Most notably, that the first female super saiyan would be a rehash of an already existing male character, rather than her own person. Others were just excited that a girl saiyan was happening and she was strong and awesome, others were excited that we were getting a canon version of Broly. Regardless of where you stood, the discourse and speculation was absolutely wild. Was she Cabba’s sister, or possibly even girlfriend? A U6 Saiyan princess? Or perhaps from another universe entirely? We had no idea. But we were hyped as hell.

So the actual arc rolled along, and surprise surprise, we met even more awesome female characters from other universes. The angels Cus, Marcarita, and Martinu, for starters, as well as the God of Destruction Helles (though there is a conversation to be had about why the only female GoD is the sexy one obsessed with beauty, but tbh I really don’t care all that much because she’s hot and I’m gay) and Ribrianne, who were all shaping up to be relevant and powerful characters. Not to mention that 18 herself was going to be getting spotlight again, and that Bra was introduced at last. Almost like the times had changed and the newest installment in the series was trying to be more inclusive and progressive. Even Daishinkan outright commented that the female warriors in the tournament were worth keeping an eye on.

It wasn’t perfect, by any means--many of the girls introduced were cute and humanoid in appearance unlike the bizarre and diverse designs of the male fighters, and male characters still make up a large majority of the characters introduced, especially as far as top tier contenders go, but it’s a huge step in the right direction for the franchise, and one I’m personally quite satisfied with. I love every last one of my new alien daughters.

The point is, despite all this, nobody even thought that we wouldn’t just be getting one female Super Saiyan; we’d be getting two. When we met Caulifla, despite her design and personality being very different from what little we knew of the mysterious girl Broly, damn near everyone assumed they were one and the same. Which tbh, says a lot for how little we’ve come to expect from DB’s female cast. It was only later, when we saw Caulifla and Kale in the same room, that we knew for sure they were different characters.

Caulifla, for her part, seems to be deliberately tailored to address the initial criticism that people had of female Broly--that is, the first female super saiyan wasn’t her own character, but a carbon copy of an existing male character. Because of how long it took for the series to actually introduce female super saiyans, there was a long time for those expectations to accumulate--and by the look of it, much like with the similarly scrutinized re-resurrection of Frieza, Super was intent on doing it right. 

Caulifla was very deliberately introduced before Kale, went super saiyan before Kale, and her personality was much more in line with the toughness we had come to expect from the saiyans. Quite notably so, in fact, considering the U6 saiyans as a whole are much nicer than their U7 counterparts. But no, the first female saiyan? A tough delinquent girl who takes shit from noone. For the most part, she fulfilled the expectations we all had of her. Kale is a bit more divisive, albeit moreso in the western fandom (the JP fandom adores her, and loves that she’s a match for Goku), but imagine for a moment if Caulifla didn’t exist. If the first female super saiyan was a spineless weakling who only showed strength in a completely unnatural form that overtook her personality, and was ripped straight from an existing male character. The unfortunate implications would have been palpable. Especially if, say, it was Cabba, not Caulifla, that was the target of her jealousy.

My guess? The ideas of female super saiyans and a U6 Broly were both brought up in the brainstorming for the Universe Survival Arc, and were both quite popular among the writers. Combining them came up, the writers really liked the idea of a female Broly, but realized quickly that it would not work on its own. And that’s how Caulifla was born--so they could have their cake and eat it too.

Which finally brings us to the conundrum of Kale and Caulifla’s relationship. What’s the deal?

The popular assumption when they were introduced was that there would be a love triangle in which they both wanted Cabba, or that at least one of them would be romantically involved with him. Which, fair enough, DB does kind of have a track record of introducing cool girlfriends for existing male characters, and introducing two whole girls was kind of new territory. Most people assumed, when the preview for episode 92 dropped and Kale appeared to have jealousy issues, that it was Cabba she was jealous of (I called that it was Caulifla, though, albeit not necessarily romantically--it honestly just made more sense given what we knew of them, but nobody believed me. I get bragging rights~). 

This really isn’t the fandom’s fault, though--quite simply, in the entire franchise, we have not had one meaningful female/female relationship. Not one. Not familial, not a friendship, and certainly not a romance. I can’t be assed to figure out if OG dragonball, Z, or GT ever passed the bechdel test, but the fact that I don’t know off the top of my head says a lot. Now, keep in mind that the bechdel test is not in and of itself an indication of sexism--that’s not what I’m saying here. But it does indicate the lack of meaningful relationships between women, which is a separate problem. A problem which, since relationships between women and precedents thereof are actually relevant to this discussion, is worth commenting on here.

Regardless of how you want to spin it, Caulifla and Kale are very close, and despite speculation it’s safe to conclude neither of them have any meaningful interest in Cabba, at least not currently. That’s... actually kind of a big deal, that two women are mutually the most important character to each others’ development like that. Especially when it would have been easier to justify their inclusion as being already close to Cabba, or hell even Hit or Frost. It’s quite rare that you have honest to god meaningful and emotionally rich relationships between two women in shounen anime, romantic or otherwise.

And no, I’m not saying “female friendships are rare and important so they shouldn’t be gay!” Female friendships are important, yes, and I hope DBS continues to explore the relationships between its female characters. But romance between women is also important, and even more of a rarity than friendship. No, what I’m trying to say is that Kale and Caulifla being so close is already quite a progressive move in a series that really needed it, and it’s clearly deliberately intended as such. While the line between pandering and deliberate attempts at representation can be a bit blurry at times, I think this falls pretty squarely on the side of the latter.

So that finally brings us to the big question. They’re close, yes, but to what extent can their bond be interpreted as romantic, to what extent was it intended to be that way, and where do the writers intend to take their relationship? Is it just fans seeing things where nothing is there, pandering or queerbaiting to draw interest for the new characters, or an actual intended canon relationship?

Well, at this point, it’s impossible to say with absolute certainty whether they are indeed gay. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, though. Saying that any attempts to paint their relationship as romantic are just fans being delusional, or insisting that they are certainly just friends, is utter and complete nonsense. It’s certainly more reasonable to interpret them as being a couple than any other two women in the franchise. If you’re going around telling people to stop having fun guys, they’re just friends, you’re an asshole. Especially because a lot of people shipping them are gay themselves. Like, holy shit, is that really so wrong?

That aside, though, there are actual legitimate, tangible hints something else is going on. As in, it’s not like shipping Goku and Vegeta or pointing to something as intangible and subjective as supposed sexual tension. A much better comparison would be the buildup to Gohan and Videl’s relationship, which followed a much similar pattern. The hints are actually there, that’s not really something that can be reasonably denied. The question is, where are they leading?

These hints include:

Kale’s jealousy. While jealousy of another person is not exclusive to romantic relationships, it is strongly associated with them. When people thought it was Cabba she was jealous for, there was no real question that her associated feelings would have been romantic. When we learned for sure that it was Caulifla, though? Would it have been impossible for her to have simply been jealous of Cabba as a friend or as a brotherly figure? No, but nobody ever considered this possibility. Likewise, it is perfectly plausible that her jealousy for Caulifla is the romantic sort.

Caulifla goes super saiyan, Kale is shown blushing. Cabba goes super saiyan immediately after, she looks bored and disdainful. “Just because she’s blushing doesn’t mean she’s gay for her.” Well, no, but it certainly hints it. It’s not the only interpretation, but it is a valid one, and I don’t like the double standard of attempting to shut down the romantic interpretation. Remember that the same thing was said about Korra and Asami before that became canon. It all starts with a blush, y’all.

“Kale! Don’t get the wrong idea! I wouldn’t fall for someone like that!” This is actually the most interesting one here, because this brings the very suggestion of romance out of the purely subtextual and into, well, actual text. Generally, same-sex relationships that are just being baited don’t really ever breach this barrier. The idea of an actual relationship or romantic intent is hinted, sometimes outright teased, but never actually seriously, explicitly suggested as anything but a punchline. “She’s just afraid of Caulifla paying attention to anyone else, period!” Well, yes. Hence Goku. But why bother having her specifically assure Kale of the lack of romantic intent, rather than simply assuring her that she’s not useless, if that’s the only issue here? And it calmed her down. It can be both things. You can be romantically interested in someone and also afraid of losing them.

The general affection shown between the two throughout the tournament thus far. Affection is not in and of itself indication of romance. It simply exists to strengthen whatever relationship is already there--to show, rather than just tell us, that they really do care about each other. And they certainly have more screentime together than with anyone else, most notably with Cabba, whom neither of them have interacted with once since they got to the tournament. Yeah, they don’t seem to be building up a romantic subplot with him. Not to mention that Caulifla saved Kale from being rung out by carrying her bridal style just like Krillin did 18 the episode prior. And then the face-touching. And Caulifla tying up Kale’s hair after she fell out of her berserker state. Friendship or romance, it’s... really sweet, honestly. Let me reiterate, since this will certainly be misconstrued. The affection displayed between the two strengthens the previous romantic hints by contextualizing them in a deeper relationship, but is not a hint of romance in and of itself.

So, it’s definitely valid to interpret them as being romantically involved, or at least interested in one another, and personally I think it’s the most reasonable way to read this. There is enough textual evidence to support this conclusion--even if it was accidental, interpretation does not rely solely on intent. Any literary analyst will tell you that.

But I think it’s kind of unlikely that somehow nobody at Toei realized they were writing a relationship that could be construed as romantic. Sure, DB tends not to be romance-heavy, but we have had onscreen romance arcs. Krillin and 18, Gohan and Videl, Trunks and Mai--certainly in the old days of the franchise it was something Toriyama tended to avoid, but the series has grown increasingly open about it over time. Hell, Trunks and Mai actually kissed. Sort of. But it was close enough to count as the first in the franchise.

So, yes, I think it’s safe to conclude that the hints of romance between Kale and Caulifla were intentional.

This begs another question, however: to what end?

Gender is not the only thing that DB has had a history of fumbling. Race, for one, but also sexuality. The two canonically gay characters in the franchise, General Blue and that... guy whose name I forget who fought Trunks during the End of Z, were both unflattering stereotypes that played their sexuality for laughs. Blue for his utter lack of interest in Bulma, End of Z guy for his unwanted advances towards Trunks. Yeah, not the best track record.

There haven’t really ever been any instances of honest to god queerbaiting, though. Take Sasuke and Naruto, for example. They were clearly never intended to seriously wind up together, but man, there was a lot of tease that they would. Why? Well, for starters, as a joke. The implication that same-sex romance is a joke is, of course, super iffy, but that’s another discussion. Second of all, to maintain the interest of the fujoshi periphery demographic without including any potentially controversial actual same-sex content. DB, while being arguably homoerotic at times, never really dipped its toes into this minefield, ESPECIALLY not with its female characters. Goku and Vegeta never accidentally kissed or accidentally shoved phallic batons up each other’s asses, and romantic interest between two women has never even been jokingly implied.

But as we have established, DBS has been all about revitalizing the franchise and taking risks. It’s not afraid to try new things--and regardless of where this ends up going, it’s already a very new thing. Contrary to popular belief, awareness of LGBT issues in Japanese culture is actually increasing. Fire Emblem Fates included same-sex romantic options (though it was criticized by the japanese LGBT community for other reasons), Yuri on Ice included M/M romance in a mainstream sports anime and received a lot of praise, anti-LGBT discrimination polices are coming into effect, and gay marriage is actually legal in some parts of Japan now. Things are looking up, and to say that Japan doesn’t care about LGBT issues is to ignore the voices of the actual Japanese LGBT community pushing for progress. It’s still a work in progress, but there is progress.

And as far as DB goes, there really does seem to be a genuine attempt to be more progressive. And if they can make deliberate strides towards gender equality, why not LGBT representation? Don’t forget that Toei also produces Sailor Moon, which is kind of infamous for having canonical lesbians, so it’s far from out of the question.

In short, I’m cautiously optimistic. Considering this is still DB it’s unlikely that we’ll get, say, an onscreen kiss or a wedding or anything, but I could see an interview statement coming out confirming their feelings for each other or an offhand comment implying that they are in fact an item, or will become one. Or maybe they don’t plan on actually going anywhere with the hints of romance, and it’s just meant to draw interest without risking offending anyone. But hey, people thought Korra and Asami would never actually happen either. And look how that turned out.

Regardless, this is a lot more revolutionary than people give it credit for, and I really hope they continue developing these wonderful characters and their love for one another.

#caulifla #kale #caulikale #dragon ball super #dbs #dbz #musings

[deflare]

What follows under the cut is a very long analysis of New World Magischola, including the feelings I had and what I can do about them. Read if you like or if you’re interested. If you’re curious about something and want some extra context, let me know.

New World Magischola Run 7 was a rough game for me. I was optimistic going in, based on my good experience at Event Horizon--a game where I was always busy, always writing, and always feeling engaged with the event as a whole. I didn't pursue dramatic personal story arcs or deep emotional play, but that was fine; I enjoyed helping everyone else's stories. But I was looking forward to pursuing those things at NWM.

I failed.

An accounting of topics and frustrations, and the lessons I'm trying to draw from them:

1) CHARACTER SURVEY

When I was signing up for NWM, the character I had in mind was basically a spy/criminal type, someone who was as much mundane as magical. There were a few directions I could have taken with this idea, and to an extent, I trusted the sorting system to smooth everything out. I listed myself as a 1st year mixed-heritage Artificer, because it seemed like the most obvious route for the story I wanted to tell--someone with some real-world experience coming back into magical 'civilian' life for the first time in a while.

I could have been all right as a first year, but it did bring some problems with it. First years generally seem to be written with the assumption that they're bright-eyed late teenagers/early adults with little real-world experience; I didn't realize that going in. Further, a first year's experience is somewhat constrained compared to their upper classmen. They have less connections, less reputation, less hooks to create before game; and in-game, they're shepherded somewhat, and are occupied with school procedural matters (mostly the sorting process) rather than personal storylines or magical projects. So while not a major problem by itself, I think being a first year did contribute to subsequent problems.

Artificery is a frustrating matter. I like the idea of magical objects and gear, I liked scribing things with runes, I liked the tension within the path between form and function, tradition versus technology. The basic problem is that when it comes to playing an Artificer, it's basically the path of arts and crafts, and I'm terrible at that part. So I could talk the talk of artificery and what the items and tools meant. But I struggled to actually build anything, which is a problem in a game where a lot of the core fun is about jamming out to your kind of magic.

If I were following my own inclinations, I would have played a Cursebreaker because that was the path most inclined toward my own interests (puzzles and runes). I wanted to play against type, but I needed IRL skills to apply to my path, not just character skills. If I were to do it again, my 'magical spy' concept would've been a Marshal. If I were to play Julian again, I would say that he shifted to Astromancy, with a focus on arithmancy--it fits well with his goals and what little development he had in the school.

2) THE CHARACTER

The sheet I got was for J. Shaughnessy, who as far as I know, was a new character created for this run. Unfortunately, there wasn't very much meat on the sheet given to me. There was a little fluff about how my parents met, then two main character traits: A love of mundane technology (which worked well with my interests), and a hatred of vampires due to his dead brother (which I was much more uneasy about).

I think the habit for most NWM players is to lean into the sapient rights and anti-elitism aspects of the setting; that was certainly what I was driven to do right away. So being assigned a character who had an irrational distaste for one group was... uncomfortable. But it wasn't specifically new ground for me; I played a vampire who hated vampires for a while, and had developed a decent, objective-sounding philisophic grounding for vampire-hate. Unfortunately, that grounding was based on a specific setting's idea of vampires as predators and junkies, which clashed somewhat with the more mellow assumptions of NWM. Further--and I had no way to know this going in--there was basically no vampire plot for me to engage with. An uncomfortable visit during Ethics class, a side plot I was too distraught to follow. If there were vampire PCs, I didn't know nor did I have a way to know. I feel like I should have explicitly dropped the vampire-hate, or just quietly ignored its presence on my sheet, to focus on other things.

During the game, I hissed and cursed about finding Shaughnessy boring. I've mellowed on that opinion. The original sheet was flavorless, but I do genuinely like the other things I planned to bring to the character--the anger, the revolutionary spirit, the Mundane-savviness, the bitterness and pain and lingering guilt of his brother's death. It was all dramatic goal. The more accurate sentiment I expressed is that I would have really enjoyed writing Shaughnessy as a character in a novel, where I would have the time and narrative separation to explore his issues. But playing him in the moment, I struggled to make any of the juice I'd created relevant to the game.

A thought: My last few major RP characters have been a bitter anti-vampire vampire, a medieval barber with low-class mannerisms, a sarcastic and opinionated journalist, a sweary octopus, and now a bitter revolutionary tech-bro. It might be time to play a more positive character, one with more charm and decorum. Yule might be a great opportunity for that.

3) IN GAME MYSTERIES

There is a tension between how I relate to the game and how the game is "supposed" to work, one that started in Event Horizon and hasn't gone away. Basically, when presented with an in-game mystery, I don't know how much I'm supposed to make up off the top of my head, and how much has a premade answer that I should get confirmed by staff or other players. This was particularly a problem when I heard things about cursed items or artifacts for players to poke at. At one point, I got an item from a gremlin--a metal bracer with an attached ring. What did this object do? I had no fucking idea, and I didn't know how much I was allowed to, or supposed to, make up about it. Beyond some IC speculation, I left the bracer alone. Mysterious artifacts were obviously meant to be plot hooks for Artificery students, but I never felt comfortable grabbing them. The situation may grow even worse with an item/curse/potion made by another PC, who might not want to see their hard work completely ignored out of ignorance. I have a similar unease about cursebreaking and potion-making. I really and truly need to sit down with someone to figure that part out, and recommend that workshops go over this.

4) IMPROVISATION

The above goes on to a more general problem I suffered from in the game. I don't know if it was the time zones, just a bad weekend, or a general personal trait, but I had a lot of trouble thinking on my feet for the weekend. For making up spells, this was somewhat justified IC--my character is kind of crap at using his wand, hence his preference for magical items and runeworking. I just struggled to think of interesting new things to do and interesting storylines to follow. Ideas occurred to me, but always just a little too late. "That would've made a great announcement on Friday." "The fae plots could have really engaged with the pain in Julian's past." "There was a ritual to visit the lands of the dead? That would've been perfect for me! Sucks that I wasn't there." I had lots of ideas for things to do, but never at the moment they were opportune--only when it was too late and the event was done. Which ties into...

5) STEPPING BACK, MISSING PLOT

This is the part of the game that made me feel the worst, because it most directly relates to things that I hate about myself. Like I said, I wanted to play a proactive character who got entangled in his own messes. I tried to stir some things up before game, but no one bit--no one engaged when I requested vampire plot, no one engaged when I suggested illegal money changing. So I walked into game hoping that I would be able to hitch onto whatever plot was interesting.

I never hitched. I kept stepping away. I kept making decisions with my gut, and my gut is a cowardly asshole that keeps saying, "walk away, this isn't your mess". To some extent, this was a result of unfortunate coincidence--the fae are one of the least interesting of supernatural creatures, in my view, so the fact that this run was so focused on the fae plotlines hurt my ability to engage. The way to deal with the fae is obvious--"avoid them"--and so I did, to the point where I felt uneasy and hunted when they tried to engage with me. My aversion to conflict spiked hard, and that led to a lot of avoidance of not just NPC, but other PCs I thought I would get into arguments with.

It was always easy to think, "I don't want to do that plot." There's always a reason to avoid something. "It's dangerous. There are bugs. It's boring. I don't really know or care about the background here." The few things I did want to engage with, I either had the bad luck to show up late, or they seemed to be happening at midnight in the woods, and I was unwilling to soak myself in bug spray and go running around outside. Topics related to Julian's vampire thing landed right on my plate, and I turned them down. This left me stuck inside, with no obvious hooks to grab me, having declined or missed the few that were around. As for stepping forward and making a new plot of my own? I can't even propose playing Civ with my friends. Saying "I'm going to initiate my own storyline right here in the middle of game with no idea if anyone else will care"? Far beyond the pale.

I felt like a coward. I felt incompetent. I felt like the only idiot who wasn't having fun. And the feeling only grew as others' plotlines grew more intense and hit their crescendos. By the end of Friday night, it felt like it was too late for me--that all of the major plots had their players, that anything I joined after classes Saturday would be finishing up. I wasted so much time on Friday and Saturday that I never got to do anything. Julian never had a story. He was just there. That made the aftermath of the game particularly hard for me, as I foresaw every other player yammering excitedly about their great plots, while I could only sit there and say, "That's nice"; I'm still going to have to deal with that in the upcoming weeks of Facebook conversations and Google Hangouts. It's not envy, I don't think. It's just a feeling that, "If all these people can do it, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

6) THE HOUSE THING

The few things I said yes to were also mistakes. Thursday night, I went to Lakay Laveau, because I thought it seemed interesting, the upperclassmen were cool, and because my IC best friend was very interested. I found the vibe uncomfortable. There was booze everywhere, there was unpleasant club music, there were upperclassmen with fake smiles trying to flatter and seduce me into their house. I walked out profoundly uncomfortable; Du Bois' common room was a helpful, relaxing departure.

Friday morning, I put in my ballot. My first choice was Du Bois, and I stand by that; that was the right choice, based on Thursday and on the character. For my second choice, I put Lakay Laveau, and that was not the right choice. Dan Obeah caught my interest before the game, but I thought the IC situation there was falling apart. Calasayla was uninteresting. Croatan was obviously undesirable. I hadn't realized that Dan Obeah would have an actual house culture that I preferred, and I hadn't realized that Lakay Laveau would have a culture of creepy cultish secrecy. My stomach started to sink during Ethics, when we talked to the house ghosts and Dan Obeah's ghost talked about things that got right to what Julian cared about. I rationalized it away ("the people in the house matter, not their ghost or the NPC ideals"); DuBois was a good fit anyway, and I thought I'd get my first choice. Then I was in Laveau, and I was getting initiated, and we were sharing horrific secrets (with no way to make them actionable IC), then we were chanting "the secrets of the house stay within the house", and I was saying yes to thing after thing that I was uncomfortable with (including something I never do, saying 'yes' when someone does the "just say yes" thing), and everything felt very, very bad.

Ultimately, I don't know how much my choice of house actually mattered. In the heat of emotion, it was easy to think, "I would've been hooked into more interesting plots if I was in Dan Obeah from the start, and I wouldn't feel so bad," but would I have been any less a coward? It's hard to say so. I still feel some guilt and awkwardness that Nancy, Alex, Brody, and Jean-Baptiste's player went through the trouble of helping me through the middle of Saturday and getting my house changed, when that was ultimately barely even relevant. I still feel like I threw a burden on them, and on the other people in the Laveau house meeting, that should've been mine to bear. If nothing else, if I had greeted the situation with more calm and courage, I could've turned it into an interesting plot. I was asked several times, "would you like to make this a storyline?" and I said "no". Instead, I just wasted more time.

7) LESSONS WALKING AWAY

I feel like I learned a lot about my preferences and desires after talking with Alex and Brody. I keep trying characters who drive plot and failing, feeling terrible. It may be time--at least for a while--to focus on characters who help support others' plots. I loved playing Hadrick because he helped keep the game on the same page and supported the remote players. He was reactive, which I thought of as a flaw. It may just be a role for me to lean into, though, at least until I feel more comfortable punching out. I'm not proactive in my own life. I thought I could be proactive in the safe space of the LARP; my failure in that regard stung. I may have been rushing too fast. Take it slow, build experience.

I failed to take advantage of a lot of the resources open to me. I had a few ideas for scene requests, but never put them through. I had a few ideas for announcements, but I never put them through. I had a few ideas for arguments or discussions to have with other players, but I never followed through. There were literally roving NPCs hooking people into events and stories, and I avoided them. I could have talked to the chancellor IC, or the counselors OOC, or the house presidents, or literally anyone, and I didn't. There were so many wasted opportunities, and that still stings and risks making me fall back into a pit or self-flagellation and shame. With a more supportive role, I at least could have felt like I contributed to others' fun, but I don't feel like I even did that. In the future, I hope I'm more willing to speak up. For now, I just feel like an idiot.

I still feel a tension about future roles. I seek novelty, and feel like I should be constantly trying new things, new characters, new situations. But I need to balance that against characters who do things that I find fun out of character. Being a cursebreaker might have felt too much like my usual MO, but I should've understood that it's okay to play to type sometimes. It may be worth considering more 'fighty' characters in the future. I'm averse to conflict in general, but there's a certain clarity in hitting something with a stick. I have an instinctive avoidance of combat characters from WoD LARPs, where being fighty is a mistake in a world of minmaxers and decade-old characters. But in a Nordic LARP? It's just another kind of roleplay.

8) CONCRETE ACTIONS FOR THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE

I should maybe talk to someone about potential anxiety issues, or at least just talk to a therapist in general. Self-diagnosed personal issues are hard. But finding a therapist is complicated. Blegh.

Yule: I have a firm idea in my head of a kind of character to play--one that should be adaptable to whatever character sheet they hand to me. Going against some in-game stereotypes by playing a Mundane-born Croatan fulfills my innovation urge while still letting me just be a nice guy. Healing also seems like one of the more supporty ways to RP in NWM. It should be a helpful palate cleanser.

Event Horizon 2: I'm really uneasy about this one now. The character I had in mind--the manager of a traveling band--was meant to be another shady proactive character, and that might be a terrible idea. More preplanning with interested parties should help, but I may also talk to the group about shifting away from a 'leader' role. I do not feel comfortable seeking out new deals and plans for the band. I am more comfortable right now with the idea of being the band's second-in-command, helping to keep the group in line and as sane as possible while supporting someone more willing to call the shots.

NWM 9+: I think I'll have to see how Yule goes before I make committments. At this moment, I'm tempted to try for two runs--one joining Kylene as Dan Obeah presidents, and one playing as a faculty member (which also seems like a very supportive role). The main problem I see with this plan is that there's no guarantee I'll get those coveted leadership spots. What do I do if I end up as another 'normal' character, as inherently unconnected as Julian? That's a nerve-wracking prospect. But I also have a lot of time to think about it, and new friends I can arrange things with before hand.

At some point, I'm tempted to try my hand at NPCing. It helps other players, it helps the game, it frees me from fussing about my own storyline stuff. The main problem is that NPCs, by their nature, tend to be inherently about confrontation. Sometimes quite intense confrontation. Could I stand to play Celestine's dad, or one of the Undertow fae seeking pacts, or a gremlin running around grabbing snipes? I genuinely don't know. I may need to see if I can seek out a 'test run' as an NPC somewhere, in a smaller, less intense game. Nordic LARPs generally seem to be "go big or go home", though. I should talk to Books and Peter about this.

I should also find an excuse to write more in LARPs. Should've volunteered to help with the school newspaper project. More writing! Moar!

And to add an optimistic final note: As rough as that 16 hours in the middle of game was, and the dread between game off and when I was able to settle into the post-game party, I feel like I came out of the game stronger for it. I got some issues out in the open. I learned about myself. I met a lot of people I genuinely like. And that's why there's a draw to keep going and keep playing, rather than just retreating into my apartment with my cat and never leaving again.

#new world magischola #larp #mopey horseshit #deflare's writing #deflare's personal stuff

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #117: Enlightenment.

Written: 6/5/2017                                                                              Nature Week

Staring up at the mountain, Richard knew that he was finally close to enlightenment. All he had to do was climb it, was to conquer it, and then he could connect with the world, could figure out what the meaning was behind anything in his life. It had seemed like no matter what he did, there was always misfortune in his life, everything good had to leave him in a terrible fashion. It got to the point where he had started to avoid everything that seemed like it would be good for him, because he started to be afraid of how he would lose it, but that was before he learned that he was spiritually imbalanced, that was before he realized that he had been disconnected by nature. This was first discovered at his career, back in his old life, as an accountant. Pouring over tax forms, staring at nothing but numbers and numbers and numbers, form after form after form, he realized that humans were never supposed to live like that, everything about his work began to seem artificial, cold, soulless, and even a little sinister in a way. Weren’t we all supposed to be animals? Didn’t we come from the wild? How could humans be natural creatures, be just another animal like dogs or snakes, but are still wrapped up in a cold and mechanical lifestyle? What happened to foraging for food, to mating calls, to wandering around among plants and other animals, probably shitting wherever or eating bugs, whatever animals are supposed to do. In Richard’s defense, he was an accountant, not an anthropologist. Facts and numbers were all that he really knew. There was a code to everything, everything was systematic in his world, there was no room for abstraction, the only gray that he had to deal with was the carpet of his office, and his forms, whenever it turned out that the printer was running out of ink. And he knew that his ideas of humanity were probably a little silly to some who knew better, but gosh darn it, he was trying, and that’s what counted! He was finally putting in the effort to dig himself out of the numerical hole that he had been buried into, he was finally screaming that he was alive, that he didn’t have to be buried just yet. Those were the actual words he used when he quit his job. He walked right up to his boss and said, “I’m alive god damn it, and I don’t need to be buried just yet”, then slammed his formal resignation down onto the desk. Startled by this sudden burst of emotion, especially since everyone in the office seemed either stressed or bored all of the time, as if there were no other emotional states possible, the boss picked up the resignation and checked to see if it was filled out properly. “This just says: Up yours accounting”, pulling the paper closer to his face, “And there seems to be a drawing of a, um..”, turning the paper around and pointing to crude lines at the bottom of the paper, some of them straight, some of them bent and curved, “What is this supposed to be?” “Forget what it was supposed to be! What matters is that it looks like shit! I can’t draw at all , all I can do is punch in numbers and, so much fucking excel, and, and, I’m out of here! I’m not staying for one minute longer, I have to see the world, I have to know my purpose!” He then turned and briskly left the office, fists shaking at his sides. His boss remained at his desk, confused, and tried to figure out what any of that meant, but his story comes later. Richard didn’t know how he was supposed to find enlightenment, and it was a thought that worried him, because he wasn’t sure if that would effect his after life, if he even had one. He didn’t even understand why he was supposed to be on Earth, why he was even alive, or why he had spend so many years focusing on numbers, working away in that cubicle of his, hiding away from anything that could cause him misfortune until he realized that the hiding was just another misfortune, escaping the problem was just a part of the problem. But how was he supposed to find enlightenment? How was he supposed to figure out the rules of life? After some deep thinking, he figured that people came from nature, so the answer would probably have to be within nature, but what even counted as nature these days? So much was torn apart by people, so much was taken possession of, so what was untouched enough for enlightenment to remain preserved? Suddenly, the answer sprang into his mind: mountains! It was that simple, there were plenty of mountains that were untouched, and all he had to do was climb one, then it would submit to his need for knowledge, and it would share with him what he needed to know, probably. He’d figure out the details once he climbed to the top and mended his soul, so all he had to do was climb it. After his preparations were finished, he announced to everyone that he was leaving and would be back in an unknown amount of time, maybe years, maybe decades, he had no way of knowing, he wasn’t sure if he would want to return to his past life after he finally found an understanding of the world. Before he boarded his plane, he realized that he felt bad for everyone that he was leaving behind, because they would continue to go on with their lives just as he used to, without knowing anything of importance, going through their lives with no meaning, no real purpose. Maybe he would return and show them the way, whatever it turned out to be, so that they could too find the inner, spiritual harmony that he was guaranteed to find. The mountain itself was in some Asian country that he couldn’t remember the name of, or even pronounce. When he attempted to ask people what it was, they only seemed confused with his English, and it made him feel stupid for being unable to talk in the country. It was difficult to find any means of transportation, he had forgotten to exchange his American money, so he had to walk towards the mountain, which took a long while, yet he felt that it was probably the right thing to do anyways. He had heard stories of pilgrims who would crawl to reach places of worship, so what trouble was walking? If anything, it could have seemed lazy, or even insulting for him to walk towards it, and his inability to ask anyone about the proper procedures for enlightenment only made him very self conscious during that walk towards the mountain in the distance. As he moved towards it, he knew that it sure looked special, it sure looked spiritual, even if he didn’t know what the difference was between a spiritual mountain, or one corrupted by man. His best guess was that as long as it hadn’t been turned into a skiing resort, then it was probably natural enough to suit his needs. However, he had doubts as he became closer and closer, because he wasn’t sure if this was the natural spot that he needed. Didn’t humans originally come from the ocean? Should he have gone scuba diving to figure out the way of the world? Weren’t there supposed to be all sorts of strange fish deep down, ones that were largely undiscovered, and untouched by humanity and its artificial ways? Giant squids and glowing fish sure seemed like they were signs of enlightenment, even if he didn���t know what the signs were supposed to be. Yet, he then realized that this was just anxiety, since he didn’t know how much he would be changed by the mountain, he just wanted a reason to go back home and return to the life that he had known, no matter how rotten it had treated him. Because, weren’t all forms of life against nature in a way? Weren’t animals all just organic machines? Sure, they were operated by blood and tendon, but they were still mechanical at the heart of it all. And weren’t machines just humanity’s way of building the world in their own inner image? What difference is there between a computer and a brain, or a heart and whatever is under a car’s hood, he wasn’t an engineer, but the point in his mind was clear. Life had come from a meteor, from somewhere in space, and it was never meant to mix with nature in the first place. Nature is rocks, soil, minerals, just a lot of inanimate objects that are content with sitting around as they float through the void. Life is the opposite, its moving, its complex, its dynamic, it spits in the face of nature. So why go into an ocean just to get further away? For a second, the accountant wondered if he should have gone into a forest, but then he realized that plants were also forms of life, they were just a disease that spread along the world, growing like a mold, or, he guessed that mold was sort of organic too, it was just another example of how awful life could be. The earth should have been nothing but rock and dirt, but instead it had become filled with the organic plague. So, by the time he had finally reached the mountain, he was comforted by its desolate atmosphere, because not only was it devoid to life, but it also seemed incredibly hostile towards it. He knew that he had made the right decision, he knew that this would help him figure it all out, to see past the small stuff and understand the big picture behind everything. Climbing the mountain was difficult, especially since it was freezing up there, even though he was wearing multiple layers, and it had become dark by the time that he begun his climb, so the darkness made it difficult to see, on top of the snow that constantly moved around him. However, he hoped that the mountain would be able to tell that he was ready to open his heart, his mind, his soul to what it had to tell him, and he would have to keep climbing until he was able to understand. It seemed that the further up he became colder, had more pain in his joints, and he was getting out of breath quicker and quicker, but he just waved it off as a part of the challenge, one of the trials to finding enlightenment. It was probably just the mountains way of keeping away those who didn’t deserve it, because Richard knew that all you needed to get anything was a little hard work, and a can do attitude. Eventually, climbing started to seem impossible, because the mountain face had become almost completely vertical, it was harder for him to lift his legs, and his hands had numbed, making it difficult for him to get a good grip on the cold stone. So, he decided that he would have to take a break, and would have to start a fire to warm himself, so that he could continue up, but he had a hard time when he tried to remove his knapsack, it had seemed that it had frozen to his shoulders, and his hands were unable to get a firm grip on the straps. It had made him a bit frustrated, but he eventually took it as a sign from the mountain that he didn’t need the fire, that it wanted him to keep climbing. Then, after getting four feet higher, he started to feel a little warm, a little sleepy, and he figured that it must have been the mountains way of telling him that he should get some rest. And why wouldn’t it? He knew of so many religious stories where prophets had received visions in dreams, so why wouldn’t the mountain try to communicate to him in this way? It had no means of speaking on its own, so it would have to make use of visions, and he was excited to be so close to his goal, excited to have returned to nature. It wasn’t a bad way to go, because he never understood that he had been freezing to death, he never understood that he would never wake up from his slumber, that no visions or knowledge would be communicated to him. He was able to pass away during the happiest moment of his life, and in that way he was free from that misfortune that he had been running from. Snow collected over his stiff, pale body, and eventually he was buried at the side of that mountain, where he would remain long after you and I pass away. He had successfully done what he had set out to achieve, he had become one with nature, to the mountain he would be just like the rest of the stone and snow that made it what it was. ——————————————————————————————————— Shortly after Richard had quit his job, had stormed out of the office, his former boss began to call people into his office, to see if they could figure out what the disgruntled, former employee had tried to scribble on his resignation letter, but nobody could come up with a satisfying answer. So, when the day was done, it was placed on the front of the fridge in the break room, where everyone could study it and try to find an answer. It was the most exciting thing that had happened in the office in years, so they paid more attention to it than they should have. After Richard had announced, online, that he was going away to some mystical, Asian land (eastern Russia), everyone around the office had begun to speculate about what knowledge he may discover, and some people were convinced that he would become a monk, and end up living in Tibet. As the years passed, and no news had been received about him, the mystery only grew, and he became somewhat of a legend around the office, where almost everyone still worked. One day, somebody new had been hired, and they heard speculation in the break room, “I heard that he’s one of the pope’s advisers.” “Where’d you hear that?” “Well, okay, I didn’t really hear it from anyone, but, I mean, its Richard we’re talking about, he could be doing anything.” “Wait”, asked the new hire, “who is Richard?” “Oh, shit, you don’t know, do you? He was an accountant here a while back, he was always an interesting guy, everyone could feel it. He just had this aura about him, you know? He was really wise, and a lot of people were too intimidated to talk to him, because he could reveal your inner character with only a few words, and it was always startling to have your true self revealed. It was like he would separate your social self and your subconscious, and the two of you would have to, like, stare at each other, and it would be strange to see how foreign you were to each other.” “Are you fucking with me?” “Okay, he may have been exaggerating, like a lot, but he really was an interesting guy. He was an accountant, that much was right, but one day he got so fed up with the office life, and he left it all behind to go seek out spiritual enlightenment. Nobody’s heard from him since, but we all know that he’s doing something great out there, everyone sort of just wishes that they could do the same, but it takes a special sort of person to be able to leave everything behind like that. Most people get tied down with life, like, like that story where the guy goes to the island with all of the tiny people, and they tie him down to the beach? Its like that, but every rope is something else, like student loans, or having a family, or medical bills, or whatever. I don’t need to explain that part to you, but he was basically somebody who was able to stand up, easily, no matter how many ropes he had on him. I guess I’m trying to say that he had a strong character, and it allowed him to transcend this drab office lifestyle.” “Why is everyone here trying to speak so, so-” “Oh, yeah, that. You’ll get used to it, maybe you’ll pick up on it too. Everyone here hopes that they could have the same ‘spiritual harmony’ that Richard had, they hope that they will be able to do the great things that he’s been able to do all around the world. Did you know that he was able to meditate for thirty straight days in the middle of the most unforgivable desert in the world, but he was able to survive because he had an amazing control of his body, he was at harmony with it, so he was able to absorb the moisture in the air so that he would never dehydrate. He didn’t have to eat, because he used up no energy whatsoever, because of that harmony. After he came out of the meditation, he was able to find the answer for world peace, but it was in a spiritual language that would cause the unenlightened masses harm if they ever heard a word of it spoken. Its a language used by shamans who are one with nature, by creatures on the astral plane who are all around us, but we cannot see. One man, he was young and college age, demanded for Richard to tell him the answer, but he refused because not only would it bring harm to the kid, but he also only wanted to know for the wrong reasons. He knew the kid couldn’t give two shits about world peace, he only wanted to know for himself, so that he could be remembered as the world’s savior. The kid was black hearted inside, he was a misguided nihilist, and he was afraid because he believed that there was no afterlife, as foolish as that is. He was hoping that his legacy would bring him an immortality that his philosophy could not, so Richard refused to tell him. But every day the kid persisted, and he kept it up for months, years, he followed the enlightened man everywhere he went. Eventually the kid gained followers in every town they traveled through, and they all believed his lies, they believed that the kid had a strong enough will to not be harmed by the words, and they began to praise him as a prophet, but a false one. So eventually the mob swelled, and they all demanded that Richard tell the kid, because they believed him to be selfish, they believed that he was hoarding away the answer because he had no care for anyone in the world, then Richard had to give in. He would have let the mob tear him apart if they only threatened violence, because he knew what lies in the after life, he’s been there plenty of times before, but the problem was that the mob was devoted to lies, to hatred, and he had to right that wrong. So, he bowed his head in submission, then leaned towards the false prophet, and whispered the answer. Before the eyes of the crowd, as Richard began to sob, the false prophet began to rapidly age until he was a shriveled old man who didn’t have the strength to stand. He said that he was dying, that he was too old and it was his time to leave. The crowd begged to know what the answer was, they were seeing him as a martyr, somebody who gave their life for peace, but he only looked up at them with a pained look on his face. He said, ‘I can’t remember’, he said, ‘It was as if I heard it a lifetime ago, in a dream’, and with those final words he passed away.” “Are you, what’s-” “Oh, don’t worry guy, you’ll get used to it. It seems silly at first, but that’s only because your perception of the world is still clouded by the lies of society. The first step is realizing and admitting that you don’t know anything, because that’s the only way that you will be open enough to learn. That’s what Richard realized, and that’s what allowed him to climb the holy mountain and see the face of god.” “You tell it girl!” “See, when he had reached the mountain, the townsfolk had warned him that it was an impossible task. They even mocked him, because he was just a meek and lowly accountant, a frail and nerdy man from a far away land, who was out of his element. They told him to return to what he knew, they told him that his world was just numbers, and that this world wasn’t for him. But they didn’t know that his heart was true, and they were shocked when he stripped naked and walked towards the mountain. And when I say naked, I mean that he was all skin. The man even had shaved beforehand, so that he didn’t even have any hair to provide him with warmth, but thats what’s important. You come into this world covered in slime, and without any hair on your body. You’re smooth and pure. And so, for him to enter the world of spiritual enlightenment, for him to be reborn, he had to remove his clothes, his hair, so that he could cover himself in the slime of knowledge. The locals believed him to be a madman, they began to grow worried for his safety and begged him to not go to the mountain, but he was determined and nobody was able to stand in his way. Eventually they grew annoyed, so they mocked him for being so foolish, but he forgave them because they were unable to understand their own ignorance. Then he went and he climbed the mountain-” “Well, it wasn’t climbing-” “Oh yeah, sorry. He walked up the mountain. Like, it was 100% vertical, it formed a 90 degree angle with the ground, and he just walked right up it, his eyes closed, and the villagers watched in amazement as he disappeared into the clouds. And what’s also amazing about the task was that he had a healthy, warm color to his body, as if he was unable to feel the cold at at. There were no goosebumps on his skin, and his penis didn’t shrink up inside of him. They waited for him to return for a month, and finally, exactly 31 days later, he walked down the side of the mountain, this time with a full on tan. None of them could believe it. He told them that he had seen the face of the god of this world, and he declared that all of the worlds religions had been wrong, that he knew the answer, and they asked him what it was. But he only frowned, he looked truly sad, and he told them that he couldn’t tell them, because if they heard it their heads would explode into a pasty mix of blood, tissue, bone, mucus, hair, like, their heads would explode and liquefy, but the villagers still demanded to hear, and with that he smiled, because they were ready to be enlightened, no matter what the cost.” “So what did he do?” “Oh, he told them, and then everyone in the village’s head splattered everywhere, even the dogs that they had for hunting. I heard that if you go there, all of that paste is still frozen to the exteriors of those abandoned huts.” “What, okay, so first off this doesn’t sound real, I don’t know how, okay, okay, never mind. Don’t look at me like that. I’m new, I’m willing to learn if that’s how I’m supposed to keep this stable job without everyone hating me. So why was he alright with killing the village?” “Well, because of the afterlife. He allowed them to be enlightened, and now they have it good in the astral plane, in the realm beyond. And its okay, everyone was skeptical at first, but you’ll learn, you’ll learn.” “Oh, what about the time that Richard ate the storm?” “No, wait, I have a better story of his. Okay, new guy, one time Richard had been staying with some rich guy, somewhere foreign and exotic where they don’t understand Western values.” “Where?” “I don’t know, somewhere on the other hemisphere. That’s not important! So, the guy kept saying that he was the most powerful man in the world, because he was in control of so much oil, and he had owned so many tigers and women. He wanted to know what more to life there was than that. He had told Richard, who was his guest, since all of the most powerful people in the world accept him as their guests-” “Yeah, like the pope.” “Seriously, stop it with your pope conspiracy. Okay, so he told Richard that he was so powerful, and the only reason for that had to be divine intervention. He believed that he had been chosen by his god to be so powerful, and even questioned if he was a god himself. He believed that it was meant to be like that, and in every reality there was a version of him, who was in the same position of power, because he had the spirit of a king, but just in a time without kings. So, Richard put his palm on the guy’s forehead, and the man saw that this was the only reality where-” “Wait, there are other realities?” “Shh! Let me finish! So, he sees that this is the only reality where he’s so powerful, and in most of the other realities he is actually a servant for the boy that cleans his toilet. He realizes that he really has the spirit of a beggar, and that he is lucky to be in the position of power that he’s currently in. He dropped to his knees and began to weep, and decided that he would have to make a change.” “So what did he do?” “Oh, he fed the boy, the one with the king’s spirit, to a tiger and threw a party that lasted for a year. When it was over they had learned that he died within the first two months, liver failure, but nobody had noticed for a long while. Richard said that the man’s punishment was that he had to live out all of his servant lives, so that he could learn-” “Wait, is this a cult?” “No, but don’t worry, some people think that at first.” “Oh, what about the time that Richard solved the cold war?” “No, tell the one about the time he cured AIDS victims in the South American hospital.” “What about the time he taught an elephant how to speak?”

#Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Enlightenment #Nature